


Nightmares

by LadyKGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Angst, Arguing, Crying, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hell Flashbacks, Hunting, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lullabies, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Language, Nightmares, POV Dean Winchester, Possible smut, Reader-Insert, Recovery, Sick Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, Torture, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:56:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9208925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKGrey/pseuds/LadyKGrey
Summary: You may be broken but you weren’t fragile. You were no damsel in distress- you didn’t need to be saved, you didn’t want to be saved. Besides, it was just nightmares, everyone had those, and you could deal just fine. So, when for the first time, Dean came running at the sound of your agonized cries, you completely surprised yourself by letting him hold you and rock you back to sleep, as he shushed and murmured quiet comfort into your ear.~-~You find yourself in a nasty situation while hunting down the Demon that tore apart your world; only to be rescued by Sam and Dean in the nick of time. But instead of the thanks they are expecting, you are furious with Dean for taking the kill that you had been fantasizing about for a year now. Despite the rough beginnings, they take you back to the bunker to recover. As you begin to physically recover, fitting with ease into the boy's life, one question haunts you: Returning to who you were is impossible, so who will you be now?





	1. Devil's Trap

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so after one too many shots of liquid courage the other night, I finally decided to try my hand at fanfiction. Let's see how this goes.

You may be broken but you weren’t fragile. You were no damsel in distress- you didn’t need to be saved, you didn’t want to be saved. Besides, it was just nightmares, everyone had those, and you could deal just fine. So, when for the first time, Dean came running at the sound of your agonized cries, you completely surprised yourself by letting him hold you and rock you back to sleep, as he shushed and murmured quiet comfort into your ear. 

**Three months earlier…**

You were so close- you could feel it, the sweet release of revenge just out of reach. You had been tracking this bastard for a year now. A year since he had destroyed everything that was precious to you, since he had taken what innocence you had left and crushed it in his cruel hands before dumping you, broken, on the side of the road. You could still hear his laughter ringing in your mind as you had begged for death.

  _“No, Slut,” He said, face twisting maliciously as he spat on you, “See, it’s much more torture to let you live, to let you live with the reminder, day in and day out of how you were too weak to save them. Of how even when I used you as nothing more than a common whore, you were powerless to stop me- and in the dark corners of your soul, you liked it. Because deep down you know that all you are is a weak, ugly, broken, slut who deserves to be used and tossed aside like trash. No one will ever want you again.”_

You shake your head, (E/C) eyes, squeezed shut, forcing the memory away. His words were ever present in your mind, but you could not let them distract you tonight. Not when you were this close. Taking in deep breaths of the cold night air, you refocus your thoughts on watching the quiet warehouse, waiting for your prey to arrive. Dressed in black t-shirt, jeans, and high top converse, you shivered a little inside your beat-up leather jacket- both from the cold and anticipation. Crouched behind the foul-smelling dumpster, you comb back over your plan, tightly clutching your salt caked iron blade.

 You knew exactly what kind of creature you were dealing with. A couple of months of research after the incident had made you realize that what you were stalking was not a man, but a demon. Those inky black eyes haunted you every second of your life, waking and dreaming, and you planned to lure him into your devil’s trap, just to carve them out of his friggin’ face before sending him back to hell where he belonged.

 Not much later, a dark figure appeared in the darkness, striding with confidence toward the warehouse door. You didn’t even need to see his face, the slight creak of his shoes sounding in time to his swagger told you this was the son of a bitch monster that you were waiting for. Steeling yourself, you stood up to your full height- which wasn’t much- and stepped out of the shadows, standing where the moonlight pooled the brightest, you shouted “Hey!”

 Your breathing came faster, panic threatening to over whelm you as he paused his stride and turned toward your voice. The bastard still wore the same black suit he had on the day you met, the same sneering smile, and malicious glint. You struggled to stand firmly beneath his gaze, to stare him straight in his black beady eyes, to convince him that you were no longer afraid. He could no longer punish you for this act of defiance.

 His dark chuckle oozed over you as his eyes flicked up and down your body, clinging to every detail, making you feel dirty. “Why, if it isn’t my little dirty whore. You were always my favorite, did you miss me?”

 You answer with nothing other than a dark glare, waiting for him to take the bait, with panic rising in your chest. It clearly works, because in a moment he is stepping ominously toward you, a triumphant sneer smeared across his face. As he approaches, you take a deep breath, flashing your own cold smile in response. “Catch me, asshole.”

 Spinning on your heel, you sprint toward the secondary warehouse and the safety of your devil’s trap. You slam through the double doors into the dark of the building, slipping quickly through the shelves in your memorized route, tucking your knife in your belt as you go. A crash and hurried creaking steps sound from behind as the demon follows you through the doors- Too close. You had forgotten how fast his long legs could propel him over the ground and he was gaining on you faster than you planned. No matter. One of you was not leaving this building alive tonight and you didn’t think you cared anymore which of you it was that stayed behind- as long as somebody died, as long as it ended.

 Two steps from the safety of the sigils painted on the floor, a bruising, long fingered grip closed around your neck, slamming you back onto the floor. The air whooshed out of your lungs, bright lights erupting behind your eyes. You desperately scrambled backwards in the darkness to escape the looming shadow, to no avail. His shoes creak toward you, pausing only to land a bone crushing kick to your ribs. As you gasp, fighting to maintain consciousness, his chuckle oozes over you once again.

 “Shall we shed some light on the situation?” At the sound of his voice, the room flairs with light, illuminating the dark-haired figure standing above you. “Ah, here we are! This is much better no? So much easier to see your pain this way!”

 Clutching your screaming ribs, you continue your frantic attempt to put distance between you and your own personal nightmare.  Striding forward with ease, he reached down and grabbed a fistful of your (H/C) hair, dragging you to your feet. You screamed, clawing at his arms, but unphased by your struggles, he continued, hauling you around the devil’s trap, and slamming you face first into a wall. You can feel his hot breath on your ear as he shoved his warmth up against your back, forcing you harder into the wall. Keeping his excruciating grip in your hair, his right hand roams your body freely, finding the hem of your shirt and slipping underneath it. You feel the nausea of memory rising in your stomach as his hand slides higher, cupping your right breast, gently at first before giving it a sudden vicious squeeze. Stifling the cry threatening to force past your lips, you swallow down all noise, refusing the sick bastard the pleasure of hearing your pain. 

 “Oh, come now, pet” he chides, “you aren’t playing the game properly.” He flips you around, this time slamming your back against the wall, causing your head to bounce painfully off the stone. Releasing your hair, he shoved his forearm across you wind pipe, holding you against the wall. The black of his eyes almost seemed to deepen as he spoke. “What to do next? I want to hear your pretty little mouth scream for mercy, just like old times.”

 “Never!” You spat out as loudly as the arm over your throat would allow. Fury replaced his amusement and before you knew what was happening, he backhanded you so hard you fell to your knees. Somehow you still managed to suppress your pained cry, angering him further. Once again, you could feel his fingers wrapping into your hair, but this time you were ready. Standing with a fluid motion, surprising and over balancing him, you yank the knife from your belt and plunge it into the side of his neck, eliciting a feral roar of pain and rage from your attacker.

 He released your hair, clawing at the knife, ripping if from his body and advancing on you as blood poured from his jugular. Why didn’t this phase him more? Even if it didn’t kill him, that move should at least have slowed him down! You began backing away from him, hands raised in what little defense they would bring from his on slot. Your reverse momentum was halted by something in your way, glancing back you realize your mistake too late, having literally backed yourself into a corner.

 Turning back to face your demon and the triumph in his eyes, you quietly whisper, “Shit” as the blade slams down biting hilt deep into your right shoulder. This time you are unable to suppress the scream tearing at your throat.

 The demon grins sadistically at your agony, and then without any warning begins to twist the still embedded blade, torturing yet another scream from you. Using his other hand to brace you and keep you standing, he slides the blade from your body and prepares to shove it into a new expanse of flesh. You clench your jaw, bracing yourself, but the pain never comes. Instead surprise spreads across his face as he looks down at a knife tip, blossoming from his chest. Then suddenly his eyes erupt with light, and he falls lifeless, dragging you to the floor, a knife in his back.

 Looking up from your spot on the floor, all you can see is a pair of the most intense green eyes you have ever seen staring down at you in a strange mixture of concern and rage.

 


	2. Altercation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader's first interactions with the Winchesters.

You sat there frozen, staring into the green eyes, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The face behind the green eyes moved a little closer, and suddenly you could make out the other features more clearly. It was a man, a little over six foot, with a strong jawline and short, tussled, dark blonde hair. He took another step toward you, boots silent on the concrete, before kneeling down and pulling the limp demon off you.

 “Hey, it’s over now,” He spoke in gruff tones, “He’s dead.”

 You felt something rise in your stomach, as the realization finally sank in. Dead. Demons can die? The bastard was dead and it wasn’t by your hand. Suddenly you knew what that feeling was rising within you- rage. You look into the face before you, glaring full force as you spit out the words, “HOW. DARE. YOU.”

 Surprised by your reaction, he pulls back from you, “What?”

 “That bastard was mine to kill! MINE!” You shout, rising to your feet, the pain of your wounds a distant memory in your fury.

 Green eyes scrambled to his feet, “Now wait a minute- I just saved your life- “

 “I didn’t ask to be saved!” _I didn’t want to be saved._ Your mind echoes, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

 “You are lucky I didn’t just let him have you after you waltzed in here and screwed up our hunt so royally!” He’s shouting now, too, matching your rage with his.

“Your hunt?!” With a feral snarl, you throw yourself at him, determined to rip his throat out for denying you your revenge. That was the only thing keeping you alive for the past year, and he just plucked it from your fingers and expected gratitude! Before you could get anywhere near the man though, a huge pair of hands reached out and gently gripped your arms, pulling you back from your target. You struggle to rip away, turning to see your assailant, and pause, awed by the sheer size of the man restraining you. He towered well over six feet, long brown hair brushing the tops of ridiculously broad shoulders. You weren’t phased for long though, turning back to the object of your anger, lunging at him despite the giant holding you back.

“Your hunt!? I have been tracking that bastard for a year! A YEAR!” Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, before adding more quietly, “He needed to pay by my hand for what he did. My hand and nobody else’s…” Your voice began to trail off as your head began to spin, your knees starting to buckle beneath you.

Green eyes opened his mouth to yell back at you, but was cut off sharply by the giant, “Dean!” Your legs had completely given out by now, your body slumping into the support of the giant hands holding onto you. “She’s losing a lot of blood.”

The last thing you hear before drifting off into the darkness was Green eyes swearing, “Ah, crap. Let’s get her back to the hotel room.”

~

The first thing you notice when you awake is the rustle of clean sheets as you startle into consciousness. The next thing you become aware of is the burning thirst tearing at your throat. Slowly pushing the blankets off, you try to sit up, only to be greeted by a skull splitting pounding in your head, causing you to collapse back down onto the bed, which then wrenched the knife wound in your shoulder. You release an unwilling whimper of pain, wrapping your uninjured arm around your head. _Ok, breathe._ You instructed yourself. _You are going to breathe through this._ Taking slow breaths, as deep as your shoulder permitted, you slowly calmed back down, allowing your mind to take in its surroundings.

You were in a rundown but clean motel room, with worn carpet, a little table and two beds. The second bed was currently occupied by the giant from last night, sleeping soundly. Green eyes was nowhere to be seen.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to assess the damage to your body, noticing for the first time that your beat-up jacket and T-shirt were missing, replaced by a huge button up plaid flannel. Peaking under the shirt, you see that not only has your shoulder been bandaged, but your broken ribs as well. Sitting up far more slowly this time to avoid the head pounding, you swing your legs from under the blankets and set your bare feet on the floor. You were glad to see that you still had pants on at least. Glancing around the room again, a wave of relief washes over you when you notice the backpack you had left by the devil’s trap had been found and brought with. That was all you owned in the world and it would completely destroy you to know you had lost the precious contents.

Standing up cautiously, trying to make the room spin as little as possible, you slowly make your way to your bag, finding your jacket and converse along the way. Your shirt, you noticed, was a tattered mess in the trash can. Guess you’ll be taking the plaid shirt with you then, since you had nothing else. _Time to go._ You tell yourself. Where, you aren’t sure yet. _I’ll decide when I get there I guess._

Just as you begin to reach for the door handle, it flies open from the other side to reveal Green eyes, laden down with greasy fast food bags and beer. The two of you stood frozen on either side of the doorway for a moment before he broke the tension by stepping inside and closing the door, cutting you off from your exit.

“Where do you think you are going?” He asked, voice gruff as he dropped the load of food onto the room’s little table.

“Wherever I darn well please!” You snapped. Taken aback by your own vehemence, you pause, staring him down defiantly. _This is completely irrational!_ You chided yourself. But despite knowing how crazy you were acting, you just couldn’t stop being angry. You had lived off the anger, hate, loneliness, and despair for so long, with the sweet thought of revenge the only thing you had left to live for, you couldn’t remember how else to feel. You didn’t know if you would ever be able to feel anything else again.

“Actually, you’re not. Not with those injuries, and a whole lot of unanswered questions. Now my brother and I risked our hides to save you- “

“I didn’t ask to be saved!” you shout for the second time since he had killed the demon.

“Ok, Fine then! We’ll just dump you off with the next demon we come across, since you seem to enjoy being that bastard’s whore so much!” His face was red, green eyes glaring with a steely intensity, daring you to keep shouting at him.

The giant on the bed sat straight up with a horrified, “Dean!” He flung off the blankets, trying to get between you two before things got physical. But he was too far away and too slow. Ignoring the screaming pain of stitches ripping in your shoulder, you swung at Green eyes, fist crunching solidly into his nose before he even had time to react. You weren’t sure what broke, his nose or your hand, but you were satisfied to see a trail of blood trickling down his lip.

Then you made the mistake of looking him in the eye. The satisfied smirk slipped from your face when you saw the feral rage boiling inside them. He came at you without warning, vicelike fists gripping your shoulders and slamming you back against the wall, forcing the air out of your lungs. Dark spots swam in your vision as you fought to breathe, the pain in your ribs and shoulder making your knees buckle. As you started to fade out, the giant loomed up behind Green eyes, ripping him off you and scooping you up into his arms before you had a chance to hit the floor.

“Dude! What the hell?!” The giant was seriously pissed, but still laid you on a bed with the utmost care before turning back to the other man. The last thing you saw as you lost your grip on consciousness was a pair of green eyes staring wide in shock and tinged with guilt. 

~

You faded back in some time later, only to discover yourself laying down in the back seat of an old car. The engine of the car rumbled beneath you as trees flashed by above your head. A bump in the road jolted your shoulder, forcing a small gasp of pain between your lips before you could suppress it. The giant’s head appeared over the seat in front of you, concern creasing his features. He reached back and tucked the blanket a little tighter around you, saying something you couldn’t quite make out as you slipped back into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter should be up tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed.


	3. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up in the bunker, and the boys finally work up the courage to ask you why you were hunting the demon.

When next you awoke, you were in a bed again, the gentle smell of clean sheets enveloping you. Snuggling down in, you waited for unconsciousness to pull you back in, and when it didn’t you growled a little in frustration and attempted to sit up, hissing from the pain in your shoulder. You were in a room by yourself, with no windows and a few small pieces of furniture, your meager possessions stacked in a chair beside the bed. The door at the end of the bed was slightly ajar, allowing light to wash in from the hall.

 Sitting there staring off into space, you knew you should be getting up and figuring out where you were- what was going to happen next. But instead, you could feel a sense of dread slowly creeping up on you, it’s grip cold and suffocating. Trembling, you scrambled to flip on the bedside light then sat back hugging your knees to your chest, struggling to control your breathing.

  _What’s Next? Who am I now?_ You had spent the entire year since the incident hunting down the monster that took your world and crushed it. You hadn’t dared to allow yourself time to process, to figure out what comes next, who you would be without those most precious to you, for fear that those thoughts would break you, keep you from getting revenge. And now you didn’t even have that to hold onto. All you had was one big empty hole where your reason to live should be.  

 A soft knock at the door makes you jump, snapping you out of the swirl of panic. The giant was standing in the door way, a small smile on his lips, but concern crinkling around his eyes. He took a cautious step into the room, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Green eyes followed him in, stopping at the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

 “Hey,” the giant said, “How are you feeling?”

 “Like someone beat the crap out of me.” You answer, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. This startles an almost inaudible snort of amusement from the man in the doorway.

 “So, uh, we never got a chance to formally introduce ourselves. My name is Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean.” The giant on the bed said, gesturing to himself and Green Eyes. At least you had real names to give them now.

 “(F/N) (L/N),” you reply very quietly. It had been so long since you had spoken your name, since you had heard it on someone else’s lips. Pushing past you discomfort, you ask, “Where are we?”

 “We’re in an underground bunker that Dean and I stay in between cases. You’re completely safe here, you don’t have to worry.” Sam shifted a little, looking at his hands, “We, uh, actually would like you to stay here with us for a bit while you recover, if that’s ok with you.” Movement in the corner of your eye caused you to look up at Dean and see him scowling at the floor. Clearly, they didn’t agree on this. Sam noticed your gaze on Dean and quickly said, “If you don’t want to stay, we could call someone to come get you or- “

 “There’s no one,” you cut him off. “I’ll stay here for now.” As much as you didn’t want to be an unwelcome guest, you really had nowhere else to go, and as beat up and lost as you were, you didn’t think you would be ok alone in the world right now.

 “Ok!” Sam stood up, “Welcome to the bunker (y/n)! I’ll let you get some rest.” He walked towards the doorway and out past his brother. When Dean tried to follow him, Sam stopped him with a pointed look, eliciting an eye roll for the shorter brother. Sam responded with some professional bitch face, not walking away until Dean put up his hands in surrender. You watch the whole exchange, highly amused, but when Dean started to turn back toward you, you dropped your eyes, studying the buttons on your shirt and pretending not to have seen.

“Hey, uh, (Y/N),” The hesitation in his voice surprised you, drawing your eyes up to meet his. You said nothing, just stared at him, waiting for him to work up what he wanted to say. “Look, I- I’m sorry for what happened at the motel. It was kind of a dick move.”

That was not what you were expecting to hear from him. For a moment, you just stared at him in shock. Then slowly a very small smile crept up the corner of your mouth. “Sam really ripped you a new one, didn’t he?”

This teased out a grin of his own as he said, “Ha, yeah.” He turned to go, but stopped when you called out to him.

“Hey, Dean.” He turned back to face you, green eyes questioning. “Sorry I punched you.”

Dean laughed outright this time, “Sure thing, Kiddo.”

You grimaced, “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Kiddo? How old are you anyway? Like twelve?” He meant it teasingly, but his smile dropped the moment he saw your face.

“Old enough to have lost everything I ever loved.” You whisper brokenly, the pain threatening to rip your insides to shreds. “Can I please be alone? I... I need some more rest.” You ask, refusing to look him in the eye.

He heaved a sigh, “Get some rest, (y/n).” You can hear him shuffle out, and as soon as the door latches behind him, you drop face first into your pillow, letting it absorb your cries of anguish. No tears, just the pent-up screams that threaten to escape you every time you are reminded of your pain. Which right now is almost every waking moment.

Eventually, you succumb to sleep, allowing your body to truly rest for the first time in a year.

~

Sometime later you woke to a soft knock on your door. “Hey (y/n),” Sam said peeking his head into your room. “We have dinner, are you hungry?”

“Starving,” you said, as your stomach rumbled, making him chuckle.

“Ok, come on out when you are ready. We’ll eat in the library, it’s just down the hall and around the corner.” He pulled his head back out of the doorway, closing it to give you privacy while you pulled yourself out of bed.

You stood with a groan, aching from head to toe. Every movement jostling the pain in your shoulder, you stepped in front of the mirror. Trying not to look at your bruised face, you put your long (h/c) hair in an awkward one handed pony tail. As you checked to make sure you were decent, you slip your favorite flip blade into a back pocket out of habit, before padding your sock feet down the hall, heading toward the smell of food.

Stepping out of the hallway you pause, taken aback by the room you were standing in. In the center was a long low table, surrounded by walls that were lined with book stuffed shelves and some strange looking artifacts. There were doorways on either end, leading to other mysterious rooms in the bunker.

Sam and Dean were already seated at the table. Sam with a laptop and papers scattered in front of him, and Dean with a beer and a couple of greasy fast food bags set in front of him. As you approached the table, he started digging through them, handing out the food. The burger in front of you smelled _Divine_. Unable to remember the last time you had eaten, you devoured every crumb of food given to you, and was still a little hungry when you finished.

“Hungry much?” Deans voice startled you, and you looked up to discover him watching you, a mixture of amusement and disgust on his face. He had only made it halfway through his burger, nursing his beer along as he ate.

Embarrassed your gaze dropped down to your small fingers, clasping around each other. “It’s been a- a while since I ate last.” You tried to make your voice sound nonchalant, but you knew you failed when Sam heaved a sigh and put aside his laptop to look at you.

“(y/n), Can we ask you some questions?” His voice was quiet, the question earnest, but it still made dread clench in your stomach.

“You can ask,” You said, silently implying that you may not necessarily answer. Dean shifted in his chair, grumbling with irritation, but Sam silenced him with a look before turning back to you.

“It’s ok, you only have to answer what you want to you.” Looking up, you meet his eyes, which were imploring you with the most pathetic puppy dog face.

“Ok!” You throw your hands up in surrender, “but only if you stop giving me those sad little puppy dog eyes. That’s not playing fair.” Dean chuckles, quickly trying to look innocent when his younger brother gave him another warning look. A small grin played across your lips at his antics.

“So, you said you’d been hunting that demon for a year?” Sam’s first question made the smile slip from your lips again. Not wanting to speak, you just nod quietly. 

“Were you a hunter before that?” Dean asked. You shake your head, looking at your hands again.

 “Who were you?” Sam asked gently. Damn it, you had to speak to answer this question.

 “Just a person, perfectly oblivious to the monsters that walk on this earth, happily ignorant.” You were purposefully vague, refusing to relive details that would rip you apart from the inside if spoken aloud.

 “What happened?” Taken aback by the tenderness in Dean’s voice, you meet his eyes briefly, recognizing the look of someone who had also suffered great loss. Closing your eyes, you steadied your breathing, trying to find the best way to answer the question without delving into the memories.

 “A Demon shows up in my life, rips my world to shreds, keeps me captive for a month. He finally gets bored of me and dumps me on the side of the road, since apparently, it was more cruel to let me live. I go to the police, they can’t help me, so I take matters into my own hands. Did lots of research, discovered I was tracking a demon, read up on all the lore and it all leads to the meeting at the warehouse the other night.” Your whole body trembled as you failed to stem the flood of memories piercing through your soul. Fists clenched, your breathing came faster and abruptly you stood, cutting off Sam as he opened his mouth to ask another question. “I need to be alone for a while.” You state, not looking at either of them as you rush from the room.

 Dean’s gruff voice follows you into the hall as he complains to his brother, “Well that was decidedly unhelpful.”

 “Give her time Dean,” Came Sam’s soft answer as you closed the door pressing your back up against it and sliding to the floor. You clutched your head as screams, cruel laughter, and inky black eyes swirled inside your mind, forcing you to once again, relive the day your world ended in fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being purposely vague on certain details still for the next few chapters, details will come to light bit by bit. I'm not sure if this is going to go the way you guys expect so as more chapters come out I'd love to hear your feedback.


	4. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You settle into a routine with the Winchesters as your body begins to heal.

You weren’t sure when you had fallen asleep, but when you awoke, you were still on the floor in front of the door. Attempting to stand, you groaned- body aching from a night spent on concrete, and boy did you need a shower. You shuffled across the cold floor, grabbing up your bag and riffling through the contents for fresh clothes. With a very small supply of clothing, you would need to do laundry soon. But that you could deal with later, right now all you could do was hope this underground crypt had hot running water.

 Coming out of your room, clothes in a bundle in your arms, you saw no sign of Sam or Dean, but as you had no idea what time it was, they could still be asleep for all you knew. You moved silently down the hall, peering into open doors, praying you wouldn’t have to open any closed ones to find the bathroom. You’ve always hated snooping in new places, and it would be highly awkward to accidently stumble on one of the boy’s rooms. A sigh of relief slipped between your lips when you finally found the bathroom at the end of the hall without having to open any closed doors. Sliding inside and locking the door behind you, you got about the business of cleaning the grime from your battered body.

 Delighted with the seemingly endless supply of hot water, you let it pound down on you, massaging, and cleansing your flesh. Cleaning your hair was a little bit harder, an awkward one handed dance, of trying to remember not to raise your right arm above shoulder height. Every time you forgot and raised your arm to assist in cleaning your hair, white hot pain would shoot through you and a string of curses would pour from your mouth.

Dried off and dressed, hair left down and tangled (no way you were going to try to brush it while your shoulder hurt so bad), you made your way from the bathroom down the hall to your room. As you walk silently down the hall, Sam and Dean turn the corner at the opposite end, Sam looking like he had just gotten back from a run, and Dean clearly having just recently pulled himself out of bed. You stopped, dirty clothes balled in your arms, not sure how to proceed after last night. Sam spoke first, a look of concern on his face.

“Hey, (y/n). Is everything ok? We heard a bit of commotion in the bathroom.” They continued to come toward you so no one had to shout down the hallway.  

Your cheeks flamed as you muttered, “Everything’s fine, I just kept forgetting and using my arm to wash my hair. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.” Not realizing how loud your pained curses had been, you felt bad for disrupting their mornings.

Sam jumped in trying to reassure you, “No, no worries, just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.”

At this comment, Dean, who had been looking decidedly grumpy the entire exchange threw a disgusted look at his brother before looking at you and saying, “Yeah, well next time forget a little quieter, would you. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“No actually I don’t,” You sassed, glaring him right in the eye with as much ferocity as he was glaring at you.

“Too friggin early!” He grouched as he turned and stomped into his room, continuing to grumble behind his slammed door. Sam just looked at you, shrugging his shoulders in apology.

“Not a morning person I see,” the sarcasm dripping from your voice as you turn to go into your room. Sam’s laugh follows you into your room as he heads down the hallway to take his own shower. Closing the door, a small smile curls up the corners of your mouth. You hadn’t even been here two days, but you had discovered that you liked knowing things you said made the brothers laugh. It was a miniscule reprieve from the black hole inside, threatening to swallow you up with every thought.

Thinking to make yourself useful, you finish up the morning routine, minus brushing your hair, and slip out into the hallway, in search of the kitchen. Neither Sam nor Dean had reappeared after the encounter in the hallway, so you figured they might appreciate breakfast whenever they did come back out. You found the kitchen through one of the doorways in the library and quickly set to assessing what supplies were available to use. There wasn’t much, but you cobbled together a breakfast of bacon and oatmeal, hoping that would suffice.

By the time the boys reemerged from their rooms, you had finished your food and covered up theirs with foil to keep it from getting any colder. You had begun to think they were never coming out and you had just wasted supplies trying to do something nice. The looks on their faces, as the aroma of food hit them, more than made up for the wait.

“Something smells great in here.” Sam commented, sniffing the air again.

Dean followed Sam with his own sniff, and a gruff, “Bacon!”

Smiling inwardly, you gesture to the dishes at their spots at the table, “I made enough for everyone if you guys would like some. 

Dean was in his spot and digging in before you even saw him move, a happy moan rumbling in his throat as he crunched on the bacon. Sam took a little longer, folding his giant self into the chair before looking up at you appreciatively.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do this.”

“No problem,” You said, giving him a quick two fingered salute before slipping back to your room; leaving them alone to enjoy their meal. It’s awkward to hover over someone while they eat the meal you made them. Besides, you needed to sort out the mess of your hair before it got any worse.

Sometime later, you were sitting on your bed, still struggling to tame your hair one handed. Your shoulder hurt like hell, and it was getting harder to stifle the string of curses steadily coming from you. Now the damn brush was actually stuck in your hair. When had your hair gotten so unbelievably unruly? You were dangerously close to tears, which just made you even more angry. What was wrong with you? _This is nothing to cry over! Don’t be such a weakling._ You chide yourself and you continue to struggle. An unexpected voice in the doorway causes you to jump out of your skin, yanking at the hair tangled in your brush.

“Is everything ok?” You look up to see Dean standing pensively just outside your open door.

“Does it look like everything is peachy to you?” The vehemence in your words startles both of you, and when the scowl he usually gives you flashes back onto his face, you know you’ve gone too far. Pinching the bridge of your nose and taking a couple of deep breaths, you look back up and say a little more calmly. “I’m sorry. Kinda really frustrated right now, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.” When he doesn’t answer right away, you look down and grumble, “It might just be easier if I shaved it all off anyway.”

“D-do you…” He started, sounding strangely unsure. You glance up at him and are surprised to see heat rising in his cheeks as he awkwardly looks everywhere but right at you. “Do you need…. Help?”

Did he just offer to help brush your hair? _I think that is the last thing I ever expected to hear come out of that man’s mouth._ You were tempted to turn down the help and continue to fight on your own. You didn’t want to seem weak… but man you really did need help. After a moment of inner struggle, your shoulders slump with defeat and looking down, you released a small, “Yes.”

“Just don’t tell Sammy,” He said sternly as he climbed carefully up onto the bed behind you.

“I won’t if you won’t.” You reply, turning around slightly to see him.

“Deal, now turn back around.” His hands lightly grip your head, turning you back away from him as he begins to pry the brush from your hair and work the knots out one by one. He is surprisingly gentle, only tugging to the point of pain a couple of times. Several times, you catch yourself relaxing to the warmth of his soft touch, forcing yourself to sit a little straighter and think of other things. About twenty minutes of silence later, his calloused hands sweep your hair back into a loose braid as you hand him the band to secure it.

“Where did you learn to do that?” You ask as he climbs back off the bed.

He shrugged before saying simply, “I’m a hunter, I’m good with my hands.” Without another word, he walked back out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

For the next couple of weeks, you settled into the same routine with the brothers. You would make breakfast for all three of you, during which Sam would recommend the best books in the library to help expand your knowledge of the monster world. After that they would disappear, doing whatever it is they did, and you would hole away in your room reading and exercising your arm. The days you washed your hair, Dean would appear when Sam wasn’t looking and silently help you brush it out, speaking only to remind you to not tell Sam.  

By the end of two weeks, you could raise your arm above your shoulder without wanting to scream, and your ribs no longer ached when you breathed. Examining yourself in a mirror, you noticed the bruises on your face and body had faded to only a memory. You were healing. Physically anyway. You were still haunted by memories every day, and tortured by nightmares every night.  You didn’t know whether you cried out in your sleep, but if either of the Winchesters heard you at night, they did a good job at hiding it in the morning.

You were up early one Monday, flipping pancakes from a pan when, you hear the telltale sounds of the two men shuffling into the library. Peering into the library, you smile at the disheveled hair and sleepy faces they both wore. _How late were they up last night?_

“You two look delightful.” You quip good-naturedly, but the smile instantly slipped from your face when you realized that they were both fully dressed with small duffel bags slung over their shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his tired face before replying, “We have a case a couple towns over. Possible ghoul. We should be back in a couple of days.”

“I could come with you,” You offered tentatively. After a year of hunting down a demon, you had learned a thing or two about killing monsters and defending yourself. Dean, who had still been standing behind Sam, tensed up, stepping forward to say something. With a hand to his arm, Sam stopped him short and answered you himself.

“That’s probably not a good idea.” He raised his hand as you opened your mouth to protest. “You are still recovering from your stab wound, and we don’t want to put you in any undue danger.”

_You mean you don’t want me to put you guys in danger by being the weakling you think I am._ You think bitterly before trying to argue your case one last time. “But- “

This time it was Dean who cut you off. “You’re staying here. End of discussion!” He barked at you so harshly, you actually took a step back.

“Fine,” You steam at him before stalking past the towering hunters toward the hall. Pausing, you turn around and say tightly, “There’s pancakes in the kitchen, take some with you so they don’t go to waste.”

Without so much as a goodbye you stomp toward your room slamming the door behind you.

Once you were sure they were gone, you yanked open the drawers in the small dresser in your room, pulling out a sports bra and some soft yoga pants. If they wouldn’t let you hunt because you weren’t strong enough, then the least you could do is take away their excuse by building your strength back up. Throwing your door open, you marched down the hall in search of the training room Sam had told you about last week. _I am not useless,_ you tell yourself, _I stayed alive for an entire year by myself. That has to count for something right?_ Relaxation time was over, from here on out it was full training mode.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last instalment before Monday, the weekend is going to be crazy. Enjoy!


	5. Fever and Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers return to the bunker at last, but not in the condition you expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the lyrics in this chapter. If you want to know the tune, here is the link:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlppyBJhLnc

It had been three days since the brothers had left on their case. Not one bit of communication had been sent through the phone they had left on the library table with a note telling you to call the preprogrammed numbers if you ran into trouble. That peeved you, but it also concerned you a little. Were they ok?

Being alone was starting to get to you. The last year had been nothing but loneliness- only the drive of revenge keeping you company. With that gone, you couldn’t ignore the despair of being left alone with your thoughts. During the day, you kept busy, working in the training room, or memorizing as much from the books in the library as you could. But at night, the dreams still crept in, torturing your mind with images of flame, blood, and black eyes, the sound of creaking shoes permeating every dream. The longer you were alone the worse they got. You didn’t make it all the way through the third night they were gone. Somewhere around one in the morning you threw off the blankets and tugged on your workout clothes before slamming out to the library. Chugging a glass of whiskey from Dean’s stash, you grabbed the phone off the table and took it with you to blow some steam in the work out room.

_I am not weak, I will get through this. I will survive, I am not weak._ You chant to yourself as you beat your fists repeatedly into the leather punching bag, willing numbness to overtake you. You hadn’t even bothered to wrap your hands before starting, the bruising pain a welcome distraction from the terror of your dreams.

Your body settled into the steady rhythm, heart beating along with your fists. The repetitiveness of the exercise was blissfully mind numbing. A crashing door on the other side of the bunker startled you out of your reverie as Sam’s voice pierced through the air, calling out your name. The panic tinged desperation in his voice spurred you into action, throwing on the huge flannel button up that was draped over the weight bench as you ran out the door. Your first week here you had tried to give back the shirt you were buttoning over your exposed torso, but Dean had said to keep it, so you did, enjoying its comforting warmth. When you finished dashing through the halls to the library, you were only partially buttoned, but it would have to do.

The sight of Sam half carrying, half dragging a struggling and delirious Dean made your heart clench painfully, any anger you still harbored toward them for leaving you behind evaporating immediately. Dean’s skin was scarily pale, except for his cheeks which were unnaturally flushed, his eyes fever bright. Rushing over, you grab his free arm and drape it over your small shoulders, looking to Sam as you ask, “Where to?”

“Dean’s room,” Sam directed, breathless from the struggle to get his brother as far as he had. Dean’s head bobbed around as he fought weakly against their grips. They struggled and stumbled down the hall, all the while he pulled and flailed muttering and gasping incoherently. When they finally reached his room, Dean put up one last fight, accidently causing them to dump him less than gently on the bed. Sam rolled him on his back, and he just lay there shivering and muttering, head tossing back and forth.

Without hesitation, Sam started to head back out the door, throwing instructions over his shoulder. “I’m getting the med kit, get his shirt off.” He disappeared around the corner, huge feet pounding down the hall. You knelt on the bed beside Dean and began to gingerly unbutton his flannel over shirt, opening it and tugging his arms out as best you could. Underneath, his usual black t-shirt was stuck to his body with sweat, a huge gash in his right side. Since the shirt was ruined anyway, you tugged out the small knife poking from his pants pocket and cut off his shirt, exposing the flesh of his chest.

For a split second, you allowed yourself to be distracted by the firmly sculpted muscles of his body. This man really was gorgeous. Rolling your eyes, you chide yourself. _Get a grip girl, it’s not like you’ve never seen a man undressed before._ With that, you turn your gaze to the gash on his side. It wasn’t overly deep, but it had a nasty jagged look to it and there were deep red streaks pushing out in tendrils around the flesh of his wound.  As you wonder what exactly happened to them, the sounds of Sam returning start to float down the hall. It sounded as though he might be on the phone.

“Look Cas, I don’t know where you are or what you are doing, but Dean needs you at the bunker right now!” He snapped the phone shut as he walked back in, bottle of whiskey and med kit in hand. You scrambled off the bed to get out of his way, as he approached and dropped his supplies on the bedside table. “This is a bigger problem than I can deal with, but we can get the wound cleaned and the fever stabilized while we wait for our friend, who can deal with it, to get here.”

You watched as he began to take things out of the bag. “What happened?” The question came out quieter than you meant, but he still heard you.

“It wasn’t a Ghoul, it was a witch covering her tracks. When we closed in on her, she got the upper hand and stabbed Dean. Neither of us realized the blade was poisoned until too late.” He finished laying out his supplies, looking you in the eye as he said, “I’m gonna need you to help hold him down while I disinfect the wound. Well as much as you can, considering your size.” He looked at your short frame standing there beside the bed, and you could see that he hoped you would be of any help at all.

“I’ll do my best,” you reassure, climbing up onto the opposite side of the bed from him. You knelt, straddling Dean’s arm. Placing your hands firmly on his shoulders, you look up at Sam and nod, letting him know to proceed.

“Ok here we go.” Murmured Sam. He started with pouring whiskey over the open wound. The sound of pain that emanated from Dean was less of a scream and more of a roar, as he bucked and rolled beneath you, nearly throwing you to the floor before your caught yourself and climbed back on, pushing his shoulders firmly back into the bed. The arm that you were straddling snaked up around your leg, gripping your thigh with bruising force as Sam started cleaning the dirt and grime out of the wound. Once you were sure he wouldn’t try to sit up again, you released his shoulders, placing your small hands on either side of his face. The heat of his skin practically burned you it was so hot with fever. He started to buck a little again, but instead of forcing him down, you gently stroked his face and hair, shushing, and whispering quiet nonsense in an attempt to calm him down. He lay back down but kept his crushing grip on your leg.

Glancing at Sam’s progress, you ask, “How’s it coming?” You tried to keep the pain from Dean’s grip out of your voice, though in the circumstances, you didn’t think Sam would notice anyway.

“Almost done, just need to bandage up the wound until Cas can get here.” He gauzed and taped the gash with expert hands- evidence of how often he had to do this. “Ok, all done. Now we need to lower the fever. We need wet cloths and ice packs; do you know where they are?” He asked, expecting you to go grab them for him as he stayed with his big brother. When you didn’t respond right away, he looked up questioningly.

“I’m sorry, he won’t let me go,” You gesture apologetically to the grip Dean had on your leg. Sam raised an eyebrow, noting how deep his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh.

“Keep an eye on him. I’ll be right back,” he sighed. Watching him walk away, you could see the weariness pull his shoulders down, shrinking his imposing height a little.

Almost as soon as Sam left the room, Dean began to writhe on the bed, whipping his head back and forth, chest heaving as he began to pant, “No, no, no- “Breathless pause before almost shouting, “No! Don’t- don’t touch me!” His hoarse voice cracked on the last sentence and it make your heart hurt for whatever torture he endured in his dreams.

Remembering how you used to sooth fever dreams in your past, you bent down as far as his grip on your leg would allow and ever so lightly brushed your lips against his ear. Soft and sweet, you let one of the many lullabies ingrained in your heart pour out as you gently smoothed a hand through his sweat soaked hair.

**“Close your eyes lay your head down, Now it’s time to sleep.**

**May you find great adventure, As you lie and dream.**

**If you’re scared of the darkness, I will calm your fear.**

**There’s a light in the hallway, So you know I’m here.”**

Already you could feel Dean’s thrashing slow and his breathing deepen. Encouraged, you continue, hoping to ease him into a restful sleep so you and Sam could treat the fever with no more trouble.

  **“Count your blessings every day,**

**It makes the monsters go away,**

**Everything will be ok,**

**You are not alone, You are right at home,**

**Goodnight.”**

Watching his face as you sang, you could see his eyes flicker less and less behind his lids. Sweat slicked his pale skin and red cheeks, stray bits of hair sticking to his forehead. Lying here like this, he seemed _so young, so vulnerable_ , you thought, watching his lips tremble a little with his shuddering breaths. You smoothed a hand down his flushed cheek and chiseled jaw line, doing everything you can to exude soothing calm. Dean abruptly released your thigh, turning on his side and curling toward you, unconsciously reaching out for comfort in his sleep. With your leg finally free, you turn to settle next to him, leaning back against the head board. _I wonder what’s taking Sam so long?_ You thought wearily, before being startled by abrupt movement in the doorway.

Sam stood there arms full of items to care for his brother, staring at you in equal parts shock and admiration. “How did you do that?” At your questioning look, he stepped in gesturing to the quietly sleeping Dean. “Get him to calm down so quickly?”

You flushed red looking away from him and trying not to remember. “Lots of practice I guess.”

Sitting down on the other side of the bed, Sam watched you quietly for a moment before saying, “Someday you must tell me who you were before all this.” When your head whipped up to look at him in panic, he put his hands up, cutting you off, “Don’t worry, only when you are ready- whenever that is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go- next instalment Castiel meets the reader. Now that Holiday break is over the chapters may not come as fast, but I'll do my best to keep up.


	6. Meeting Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel finally arrives in answer to Sam's call.

Once Dean was covered in damp rags, ice packs tucked all around him, he slept fitfully for more than an hour, his left arm draped over your lap, too warm face pressed into your side. You sat quietly, regularly checking his fever, and stroking his hair when he stirred. Sam sat in a chair next to the bed, going back and forth between checking his phone and watching his brother sleep feverishly next to you.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but you did know the second you started dreaming. You were in a familiar dimly lit room, sitting up in bed with a small warm bundle in your arms. Rocking and humming quietly, you close your eyes and lean down the kiss the rosy little cheek peeking out of the blanket. When you pull back up and open your eyes, the bundle is no longer warm, the little cheek no longer rosy but terrifyingly pale. Everything is splattered in blood. Blood on your face, the blankets, the bundle in your arms. You inhale, ready to scream-

\- And snap awake, a hand pressed over your mouth to muffle any sound that might escape you. Out of habit, you refuse to scream with someone else in the room, swallowing it down. Glancing over to make sure Sam was not disturbed by your dreams, you discover the chair he had been in was now empty.

“What were you dreaming of?” A gravelly voice in the doorway startled a small yelp out of you, whipping your head to look at the stranger standing there. A man with a medium build, dark tussled hair, and a trench coat over a blue suit, regarded you through piercing blue eyes.

“Who are you?” You demand, “And were you watching me sleep? You shouldn’t do that, it’s creepy!”

The stranger tilted his head, giving you a slight squint of confusion. “That is what Dean usually says.”

“Well it’s good advice, you should listen to it!” You grump, shifting slightly under Dean’s arm to find a more comfortable position. “You gonna tell me who you are?”

As you asked your question, Sam slipped in the door behind the man standing there. “(y/n), this is Castiel. He’s the friend who is going to help us.”

With a nod, Castiel stepped forward, saying “He needs to be on his back so I can see his wound clearly.” You and Sam work together to clear away the wet cloths and ice packs. Dean lets out a pained moan as the three of you gently roll him onto his back. Running a soft hand through his hair, you pointedly look away when Sam begins to peel the bandaging off the wound. The room is silent for a long minute as Castiel examines the damage. His voice is quiet, almost apologetic as he says, “I can extract the poison from the wound only. The remaining symptoms, Dean must heal from on his own strength.”

“You can’t heal him?” Sam pushed, disappointed at the news.

“I am sorry Sam. If I had my grace I could heal him easily, but with borrowed grace, I am not strong enough.” Castiel looked at Sam sadly, clearly also wishing he could do more. _What the heck does that mean?_ you think, completely confused.

“I don’t understand, why isn’t the mark protecting him?”

“The mark _is_ protecting him, Sam- this poison would have killed a normal human in minutes.” You looked back and forth between the two men, even more baffled by what they were saying now. _What does he mean by normal human? What mark?_ You wanted so badly to understand what was going on, but you were not sure now was the time to ask.

“Ok, just do what you can then.” Said Sam as he turned back to his brother.

Castiel watched them gravely for a moment, before striding forward and instructing, “Hold him down.”

Wordlessly you lift Dean’s head, sliding in behind him and letting his head rest back down in your lap. Placing your hands firmly down on his shoulders, you look up, nodding your readiness to Castiel as Sam braced his hands on his brother’s torso.

“This will be unpleasant,” the shorter man warned before hovering his palm a hairs breadth above the gash. A soft glow began to form under his hand and almost immediately Dean’s body began to writhe in response; back arching, head thrashing, and fists gripping and twisting in the sheets. Both you and Sam clung to him in desperation, grips bruising his flesh as you fought to hold him still. The worst part, in your mind, was that this time he didn’t cry out in pain. The only sound he made was a vicious gurgling growl in the back of his throat as he bucked and flailed.

Another light, second to the glow under Castiel’s palm, caught the corner of your eye and you turned to stare in horror at a strange brand in Dean’s right forearm, glowing a molten orange. Is this the mark that Sam and Castiel were on about? You hadn’t noticed it before because that was the arm that had been wrapped so tightly around your leg, and then tucked under his body while he slept, curled into you. As soon as they were done taking care of Dean, these men were giving you answers or else.

As the minutes ticked by, the thrashing slowly decreased, and soon Castiel was pulling his hand away, his face drawn with exhaustion. “I have done what I can. The rest is up to Dean.”

~

Sometime later, you sat in silence, taking your shift watching Dean. Your brain was spinning from all the new information you had learned in the last hour. Angels of the Lord, Knights of Hell, the Mark of Cain- it would have been too much to believe if you hadn’t seen Castiel at work with your own eyes. A year ago, it had been easy to accept that there were monsters and demons in the world, why was it so hard to believe these new revelations?

Knowing what the mark does to Dean made it a little easier to understand his behavior toward you since the two of you had met. He seemed to want to be on good terms with you, going so far as helping you brush your hair when you couldn’t, but he got angry so easily, that more often than not, he distanced himself from you.

_“Is that why He’s grumpy so much?” You had asked Sam, eliciting an exhausted chuckle from him._

_“No,” He had replied, “That’s just Dean being Dean. But him losing his temper so easily- that’s the mark. The, uh, incident in the motel right after killing the demon, that was the mark. After that, we agreed that he shouldn’t be alone with you very often. You have a bit of a grouchy side yourself, you know. It sets him off.” He had teased._

Dropping your head into your hands, you struggled to process everything that had happened since meeting the Winchesters. You hadn’t realized it at the time, but they had saved your life in more ways than one. Yes, they stopped the demon, but you had been ready to give up on life after everything was said and done, you didn’t know what else there was to live for. But when they swooped in, there was suddenly someone there who cared that you survived, even if it was just part of their job. It didn’t necessarily give you a reason to live, but it did give you a reason not to die.

Raising your tired eyes, you studied Dean’s still features. The flush of fever was starting to fade, leaving him deathly pale, as he lay there breathing shallowly, completely unaware of the world around him. Hesitantly, you reached over, grasping his limp hand.

“I never got a chance to tell you this Dean.” You didn’t know why you were whispering, but you were afraid to be any louder, “I didn’t know I wanted to until now, but… Th-Thank you for saving my life back there. I’m sorry about how I acted when you did. Taking my revenge was all I had to hold onto, so when you took it for me, I felt like the world had been yanked from my grasp. Now I realize that it’s better that you were there.” You pause, trembling as the truth swamped you with emotions you had been holding back for nearly a month now. “I- I’m terrified… I can never get back what I had, who I was, my f…family, my life. I will never be that person again, but I don’t know who I am now. And that scares me. I’m broken, shattered into so many pieces- I’ll never be whole again, I know that. But eventually I have to figure out who I am going to be, what I’m going to live for. How do I do that?”

“Start by figuring out what defines you, and only you.” The gravelly voice in the doorway made your heart freeze for a moment before you whipped around for a second time that day, determined to give Castiel a piece of your mind about eavesdropping on private confession moments. Something in his eyes made you forget the lecture on the tip of your tongue. Here was yet another person who had experienced great loss- the sadness in his eyes telling a story of pain and betrayal. At your hesitation, he continued, explaining what he meant, “Not based on the people around you, what defines you? What colors please you? What tastes? Is there an activity that pleases you? Start with the most basic most simple truths about the new person you are, and the rest will follow.” As you continued to stare at him, taken aback by his advice, he took a tentative step into the room, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder before turning to leave again.

“Castiel?” He paused, looking at you expectantly, “Does it work?”

“I will tell you when I know. Oh, and Sam and Dean insist on calling me Cas, you may do so if you wish.” With that, he was gone, striding back down the hallway.

You sit back in your chair, a small smile playing across your lips. _I think I just made friends with an angel._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next instalment won't be for a couple of days I think, but in the mean time, I'd love to hear what you think.


	7. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up, and so does something inside of the reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly thought and very little action, please bear with me, this chapter is necessary to build up for what is coming in the next chapters.

 

It had been two days and Dean was still not awake. After the first day, Castiel had left again to take care of “urgent matters,” he said; but gave instructions to let him know as soon as Dean woke up. The waiting was agonizing, you weren’t sure what to do, so you did what you knew you could: You took care of Sam while he took care of his big brother. You made food, fetched whatever Sam needed, and took care of Dean when Sam could no longer fight the exhaustion.

 The moments you had alone, you spent in the work out room, going through complicated hand to hand combat practice dances, strengthening your body and keeping it nimble. Since Sam only left Dean’s side to sleep, you never had a sparring partner, so you hoped the practice dances were enough to keep you sharp. You were down there now, lithe body twisting, kicking, and punching as you slipped mindlessly through the moves. Sliding into the finishing position, you came to an abrupt halt, breath dragging raggedly at your throat. As you turn to add blades to the next routine, you discover Castiel standing there watching you quietly, head tilted slightly to the side.

“Um, Cas,” you said, startled by his presence, “Remember what I said about watching people is creepy? Maybe let me know you’re there next time. When did you get back?”

His brows came together in confusion as he squinted at you, “Just now. I came to check on Dean’s progress. I do not understand, you said watching people while they sleep is creepy. You are not sleeping.”

“Same principle, Cas.” You suppressed and eye roll as you turned your back to him, searching your equipment bag for your blades; only to have your spine stiffen at the sharp intake of breath behind you. You knew what surprised Castiel, the scars on your back were less than pleasant to behold, and right in the center of them all was a large intricate brand where your demon captor had marked you as his own. You could still remember the smell of burnt flesh stinging your nose, the white-hot pain when the brand seared into you. Shaking your head, your clear your thoughts. Cas had startled you with his presence, and you were so concentrated on your workout that you hadn’t even thought about covering up when he came in. It wasn’t that you were wearing a sports bra and no shirt, showing a little skin never hurt anyone- no, instead it was that you had marks on your body that you were not ready to talk about with the Winchesters. Scars on your back from the demon, and marks on your stomach from a past that you were still too afraid to think about, for fear of the memories tearing you apart. You knew they had to have seen it all when they bandaged you up the first night they found you, but they hadn’t brought it up and you made sure you were well covered whenever they were around to avoid reminding them.

Without looking at Cas, you hurried over to where the large flannel button up was draped and pulled it on, buttoning it up over your broken body. You knew he was fixing you with one of his mournful, blue eyed gazes and you did not want to see that. You did not need his pity. You were not some simpering, sniveling starlet in a Hollywood blockbuster who flaunted her pain and begged for attention. You did not need to be swept up into the arms of some man, unable to take care of yourself. You would be fine and you didn’t need the invasion of someone else’s pity into your privacy. Once you were covered and started packing up your gear, Castiel spoke at last.

“I’m sorry,” he said at first. When you turned around to tell him not to bother, he held up his hand silencing you. “You should not have had to endure what you did, but if you would like to talk about it, you know Sam, Dean, or I would be happy to listen.”

Panic rose in your chest a little. “Do NOT bring this up with either of them, do you hear me?” He seemed a little taken aback by your commanding tone. “The last thing I need is to have them start asking questions all over again. I can handle this on my own.”

“But you are not handling it.” His words struck you deep down, “You are just hiding it all away. I can sense your turmoil. You cannot keep the pain buried inside forever or it will fester. You need to talk about it, you can’t carry this alone.”

“I can and am.” You throw your bag over your shoulder making for the exit. Castiel seemed intent on continuing to pester you, when he was interrupted by Sam’s voice bellowing though the halls.

“Guys! Get up here, he’s awake.”

Disagreement forgotten, Castiel dashed out of the room, you close on his heels. The moments between the work out room and Dean’s bedroom stabbed at you. You needed to get there faster, needed to see that he was ok. The desperation caught you off guard, you didn’t realize how concerned for the green-eyed hunter you had become. You thought you had been able to separate yourself from those feelings, keeping yourself safe from further harm. Clearly something had slipped through the walls you had put up.

As Cas entered Dean’s room, you paused in the doorway, uncertain, though you weren’t sure why. Dean was sitting up on the side of his bed, head in hands, Sam next to him, wrapping a blanket around his brother’s bare shoulders. He draped an arm over Dean and looked up as Castiel approached them. Squatting down to be at eye level with his friend, he wordlessly reached out a hand gripping the other man’s chin, and bringing his face up so he could examine his eyes. Once satisfied with what he saw or didn’t see, he released his hold and stood back up.

“How are you feeling?” His gravelly voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he regarded his friend.

“Like hell,” Dean’s voice was rough, almost gone from his fever.

“How much do you remember?” Sam asked, poised to fill in the story for his brother.

“The witch’s knife, and then just bits and pieces from there.” At this Dean’s eyes searched the room, coming to rest on you, still in the door way, arms crossed, as if to protect yourself from the feelings in the room. The look in his eyes shook you deep to your core, no longer the surface kindness and sarcasm or usual scowl, but a wondering, considering look, something deep inside the green more open than before. _Crap!_ you thought, _what exactly did he remember? He didn’t hear me before, did he?_  Dean held your gaze for what felt like an eternity, but more like a few seconds. Breaking the contact, he looked back to the two men watching him quietly. “What does a person have to do to get some food around here?”

Taking that as your cue to leave the men alone for a while, you said “I’ll handle that, coming right up!” and swept out of the room before you could become any more confused about what was going on with you than you already were.

Standing in the kitchen, still in your workout clothes, you were more grateful than ever for the huge flannel shirt given to you a few weeks before. You pulled it tighter over your shivering frame, trying to not only fight off the cold but a flood of memories that continued to send pained shivers through your spine. The look in Dean’s eyes kept haunting you, bringing forth unbidden thoughts. You knew you liked being here, in the brother’s company; the back and forth of sarcasm with Dean, his grouchy demeanor, the reading in the library with Sam, his eagerness to help you learn more. But these were all surface feelings, you hadn’t allowed yourself to go any deeper, or so you thought. Somehow the simple things like enjoying making them laugh, had turned into something far more complicated. Something that wriggled out of your grasp and got out of control the moment you had seen Dean, a wounded and feverish mess on his brother’s shoulder.

Uncontrolled feelings got you hurt, you knew that. But just remembering the look in Dean’s eyes back there, gave you little goose bumps. Without your consent, your feelings were starting to awaken, and it scared the hell out of you. _The last time a man looked at me remotely like that, he died in my arms a few years later._ Your arms shook and your head swam a little with the unbidden thoughts. Pulling the pan of eggs and bacon you had been frying, off the burner, you set it aside and hug your arms tightly to yourself, as if it would help you hold together a little bit better. You shivered harder, fighting back the panic that memories always brought. Back against the counter, you slid to the floor and drew your knees up to your forehead. _Come on, get ahold of yourself. Breathe through it like you always do,_ you chide yourself. From the day you had decided to hunt down the demon yourself, you had allowed not one memory, not one tear. Since coming to the bunker with the Winchester boys, it had become increasingly difficult to maintain that level of control.

Staring desolately at the kitchen floor, wondering how you could have fallen this far without knowing, you abruptly realize that you weren’t just looking at floor, but also at a rather familiar pair of boots. Your heart froze for just a moment, before slowly forcing yourself to look up into the pair of green eyes you knew were watching you. He was giving you a look that was all sadness and concern and a hint of what looked like hesitation. You were not ready to deal with the thoughts behind that look.

“D-Dean!” You scramble to your feet, putting the table between the two of you out of a habit of defense. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be up yet!”

“I’m ok,” he said soothingly, “With the poison gone, I slept off all of the effects and the mark will heal me pretty quickly from there.” He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over where his sleeve hid the mark underneath. So, Sam and Castiel let him know they told her everything. What else did they tell him about the events of the last few days? “Cas was bickering with Sam over something so I came out to see if you needed any help.”

Springing into action, you grabbed the pan and slid the still warm food onto a plate. “No help needed, see all ready!” you say, hoping he bought into the false cheeriness of your words. You set the plate down with a solid thunk on the table in front of him, and went to leave, trying to breathe through the squeezing muscles in your chest. “Enjoy!”

As you walk past him, attempting to escape the suddenly too small kitchen, Dean reached out with a strong hand, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a stop. For the second time in too short a period, your heart froze. The warmth of his hand caused tingles to radiate across your skin, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw that hint again, the hesitation, buried deep within the green. It passed quickly though, and without warning, he dragged you tight to his strong chest in the first hug you’ve had in over a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is already almost done, hope to update sooner rather than later! Thanks for reading with me this far!


	8. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader still can't control her anger in response to being encouraged to talk about the pain.

As Dean folded you into his arms, your body went rigid, unsure how to take the physical affection. Part of you wanted to push from him and run away, but another part of you wanted to snuggle deeper into the hug and never let go. As the two sides of you warred within, Dean’s warm musk enveloped you. Breathing in the intoxicating scent, you gave in to the hug, letting him pull you close and even hugging back for a short moment, before trying to push away. He only let you pull away a little, one arm still tucked behind the small of your back. The other hand very gently slipped under your chin, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

 Attempting to avoid whatever was coming, you joke, “I think you are still a little addled from your fever- this is a bit over the top for breakfast. A simple thank you would have done.” The weak smile you gave him was not convincing, but you hoped he would get the hint that you didn’t want to do this right now. No luck though, he just chuckled a little without letting go.

“I just…” He took a quick breath almost as though he was nervous about what he wanted to say. “I just wanted to say thank you. Sam told me everything you did when he brought me back. Although I don’t remember everything, I do remember bits and pieces and- and I need you to know I _heard_ you.” His low voice rumbled through you as he spoke, and he didn’t need to elaborate what he meant when he said he heard you. You knew Dean was talking about your quiet moment of brokenness alone with him while he slept. At that you tried again to pull away from him- this time he let you step away, hugging your arms to yourself.

“Dean-“ Your voice was barely above a whisper, but before you could finish your thought, he held up his hands, stopping you.

“Let me finish.” He commanded firmly, then softening up again as he said, “I know you’re hurting, you’re scared and you aren’t sure where to go from here. You haven’t really had a chance to process what happened so you can begin to heal. But I wanted to let you know, when you are ready to talk, I’m here. I want to help.”

As he finished, all the uncertainty and struggle you had been feeling was pushed aside by a towering wave of rage. It was completely irrational, you knew, but you just couldn’t stop it as it swept through you.  “What is with everyone and wanting me to talk?” The words were sharp and clearly unexpected as they drove Dean back a step, hurt flashing in his eyes before it was overwhelmed with his own wave of rage. “Has it occurred to anyone that maybe I don’t want to talk? I can handle this on my own, why can’t anyone see that?!” By this time your voice had risen to a shout, trying to cover up the slight tremble in your words.

Dean’s ferocity and volume matched yours as he shouted back, “Well excuse me for going out on a limb and trying to help you!”

“I don’t need your pity Dean! I can help myself!” You tried to draw yourself to your full height, regrouping your shattered dignity. It did not have the effect you were hoping for since your full height didn’t even pass Dean’s shoulder.

“Fine.” He spat the word at you, stalking forward, forcing you to back up into the corner of the wall. Oblivious of the panic he was causing you, Dean leaned down until your noses were nearly touching, and said in a menacing growl, “Don’t blame me when you start to self-destruct.”

You shoved him away, out of anger and a need to be free, a hitch in your voice as you retort, “That’s not going to happen!” Storming away, you push past a shocked looking Sam and Cas, who had clearly just arrived in the kitchen. As you fume on your path away from them, you could hear Sam question Dean in a resignedly frustrated voice.

“What did you do now Dean?” His older brother scoffed at his tone.

“What? I didn’t start it, she did! And I didn’t even bring up the scars that Cas told us about!” As his words floated to you from the kitchen, a hiss of fury escaped between your teeth. He told them? Stomping back in the direction you came, you stop momentarily just behind the towering figures still in the kitchen.

“And screw you, Castiel!” All three of them jumped at the proximity of your voice, but before anyone had time to respond, you stormed off toward your room once again. And again, you could hear their voices following you.

“She used your full name, Cas, I think that means you’re in trouble.”

“I do not think that this is a laughing matter, Dean.” Castiel’s gravelly voice chiding Dean was the last thing you heard before you blocked out their voices, striding to your room, and slamming the door behind you.

You steamed for a long time, pacing back and forth, and muttering to yourself. After a while, once you could calm down some, you had to admit that they were at least partially right. You had to face the memories and the pain eventually. You would never get better if you couldn’t deal with your issues, like Cas had said, it would just fester like an unclean wound. And figuring out how to move on from the pain wasn’t forgetting them, right? They would want you to keep living your life instead of throwing it away? _I don’t know what to think any more._ You sat on the edge of the bed, heels of your hands pressed into your eyes. You would deal with this, you would really. Just not with the three men down the hall. You enjoyed being around them, trusted them even, but this was so intensely personal, there was no way you could bare this to anyone just yet.  Besides you were still too pissed at Dean, even though you knew in the end, you were the one that drove him to act the way he did. It was easier to be angry with Dean than to admit to his face that he was right. But he _was_ right.

Hand trembling, you reached over to the drawer in the nightstand and slowly drew it open. Inside lay a small square wooden box with geometric designs burned and stained into the hinged lid. Pulling it out, you could hear the contents inside shift and rattle with the tremor in your hands. Holding it there, your breath seemed to escape you as you stared at the object in front of you. Even though you hadn’t opened the box in a year, out of fear of what it might do to you, you still knew by heart what was in there. The prospect of pouring over the precious items both thrilled and terrified you. Time ticked by as you stared, never opening the box. With a sigh, you set it down on the night table, laying down to gaze at it some more. You would not be opening it tonight, you just weren’t strong enough yet. _One step at a time I guess,_ you thought as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

~

For the next week and a half, you stayed strictly in your room or the work out room. Castiel, unable to bear the tension, had left on a “Mission,” leaving Sam alone to deal with you and Dean. You weren’t about to make Sam suffer for your beef with Dean, so the only deviation you made in your isolation was to the kitchen to make breakfast every morning. You knew he liked it when you cooked in the mornings, you just made sure you weren’t in the kitchen by the time the brothers came out to the smells of food. If you were in your room, the door was shut firmly so Dean couldn’t see you as he came down the hallway, and if he came to work out while you were in there pounding at the punching bag or doing your combat dances, you immediately packed up and left, refusing to look at him. You knew it was small of you to keep acting like this, but you just couldn’t shake your frustration with him. No one backs you into a corner and comes out unscathed.

Near the end of the week and a half the brothers came to work out while you were just finishing. Grabbing your stuff, you left without as much as a glance. Before you could escape completely, Dean’s voice floated down the hall to you. “How long do you think she’s gonna stay pissed at me, Sammy?” He sounded so forlorn that you couldn’t help but peek behind you just in time to see Sam rest a comforting hand on his big brother’s drooped shoulders, before they turned to prep for their sparring match.

The sound in Dean’s voice bothered you all the way up to your room and all the way through your shower. When you were finally clean and getting dressed, you had made up your mind. It was time to stop punishing Dean with your behavior. You had to admit that taking it this long was somewhat childish. So, when you went back to your room to brush your hair, you left the door open like you used to, hoping that would be a good indicator that you were ready for a truce.

It worked, because not much later a freshly showered Dean was standing hesitantly in your doorway, silently watching you drag a brush through your hair. When he didn’t speak, you finally huffed a breath, trying to keep the edge out of your voice as you asked, “What do you want Dean?”

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment before asking, “Are you gonna stay mad at me forever, (y/n)?” His tone was light, like he was trying to pass it off as a joke, but the question came out just a little too quiet, as though he had to force it just to be at the volume it came out at. Dropping the hand with the hair brush into your lap, you heaved a deep sigh as you regarded him.

Then with an equally quiet, “No,” you gently patted the spot next to you on the bed- a silent invitation for him to come in and sit with you. He took several quick strides, plopping himself on the bed next to you. His speed surprised you, and you weren’t sure if he was eager, or just wanted to get in before he changed his mind. You fiddled with the brush in your hands for a moment, not sure what to say. Before you could think of anything, his calloused hands reached over and softly pried the brush from your grasp. He gripped your shoulders, gently turning you to face away from him, and then just like he used to, began to work the brush through the knots in your hair. 

Dean worked in silence for only a moment before his voice rumbled down your spine, “I’m sorry I upset you.” He paused, at a loss on how to continue, but you knew you had your own apology to make, so you didn’t let him hang for very long.

“I shouldn’t have over reacted. My actions pushed you to get upset too.” You trembled, wondering if you should go on. The silence hung between you for a moment, Dean’s hands working steadily through your hair. “It’s just…. Dean?”

“Yes?” He sounded apprehensive.

“Please don’t- don’t ever back me into a corner again.” You paused, allowing more silence to fall between you two before continuing. “It’s just… um… the last time someone backed me into a corner, it didn’t go that great for me.”

You could feel him tense behind you, and you knew he was eyeing the scar peeking out from under your tank top strap on the back of your shoulder. “Oh, shit,” he breathed, “I didn’t think- I didn’t realize…  Sorry.”

You knew that he was only thinking about the demon plunging and twisting the blade in your shoulder, that he didn’t know a year ago there were many other times the same bastard had backed you into a corner to force his darkest desires upon you. For that you were grateful. “Dean, you never have to be sorry for what that bastard did to me. Just don’t do it again, eh?”

“I promise,” he rumbled fervently. Finishing with the brush, he swept your hair into a quick braid and then turned you to face him. “That demon can never hurt you again. I’m sorry I reminded you of him back there.” Quickly he placed a warm kiss on your forehead before getting up and disappearing out the door, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what had gotten into Dean.

That evening, Sam heaved a sigh of relief when he came in to see the two of you sitting together at the table for dinner. Finally, for the first time in nearly two weeks there would be peace in the bunker. Well, for now. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok here we go. The next few chapters will be more angst (I think), and reveal more memories- the reader even gets to go on her first hunt. Comments are always welcome!


	9. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You surprise the boys with your fighting ability, and Dean surprises you with something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this one taking longer to get up. Life got crazy and I lost a little steam and confidence in the story. But to make up for it, this chapter is a little longer and there is a nice nugget at the end ;)

“Oh, come on, Dean!” You said, frustration building as you tried not to shout. “You can’t keep me cooped up down here forever! I’m not completely useless! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t come!”

 “Well let’s see. You’re untried, inexperienced, and a liability!” He ticked each item off on his fingers, irritation making his voice sharp. You two had been at the same argument for a couple of days now. Tired of getting left behind as the boys went to work cases, you asked to come along and help, only to be met with a solid wall of refusal from Dean. You had been with the brothers for two months now and were tired of sitting around the bunker feeling useless, and all that time alone was seriously getting to you.

 “You know those excuses are crap! I survived the world of monsters on my own for a year- that should count for something. I’m only a liability if you don’t trust me to let me do my job properly!” A low growl was starting to come from Dean, but was stifled by what you said next. “And I know you’ve been watching me practice and work out! Don’t think I haven’t seen you! You know I’m perfectly capable!”

 A flush of red creeped up Dean’s cheeks, realizing he hadn’t been as secret as he thought. Abruptly whirling about to glare a Sam, he snapped, “You gonna back me up on this at all Sammy?”

 Sam sat at the table looking between Dean’s angry stance and your small frame, hands on hips steaming with fury. “Uh, No. I’m not getting between you on this one. My sense of self-preservation is not so damaged, that I want to get torn apart. I’m just here to make sure you two don’t kill each other.”

“Great! Thank you for your support!” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, back still turned to you.

“Come on Dean,” you say again, this time more gently, “I’ve killed monsters before. I can fight and I’ve been reading every bit of lore I’ve gotten my hands on since getting here. You had to know I couldn’t stay locked down here forever.” You let your voice take on the tiniest bit of pleading, hoping that would help budge him some.

His stance softened just the tiniest bit as he turned around to face you. “And what about when we found you? You were nearly killed by that bastard.” His voice wasn’t mocking or accusing, just a soft tone, letting you know he was genuinely concerned.

Despite his tone, the question still rankled, but you tried to keep your attitude in check as you said, “What? You’ve never had your ass handed to you by a target? I am still new to this, someone was bound to get the drop on me eventually. But if I go out with you guys, I can hone my skills and I won’t be alone.”

Sam piped up, “She has a point Dean.”

“Now you choose to have an opinion?” Dean said over his shoulder. “Shut up, Sammy.” Sam just shrugged his shoulders, as Dean turned his attention back to you. “And you!” emphasizing with a point, “Go down to the sparring mat. If you can dump me on my ass, I might think about letting you come.”

~

Instead of going straight to the sparring mat, you high tail it to your room to change. You did not want to fight in any loose clothing that might accidentally allow the revelation of flesh, but you didn’t put on your workout clothes either. Instead, you put on what you might wear for a hunt: Your tight black V-neck and stretchy black skinny jeans allowing ease of movement, and your black converse giving you better purchase and flex for your footing. You needed to show Dean that you were completely capable of defending yourself in your hunting gear.

In record timing, you were changed and arriving at the mat in the work out room, bag of gear in hand. Sam turned around first, huffing a little in surprise at your change of clothing. At the sound, Dean turned to look and raised only an eyebrow at your before barking, “Front and center, (y/n)!” Without another word, he faced you, crouching down into the starting position, you follow suit mimicking his stance.

You figure your best bet is to let him go on the offensive first, using his size against him and tiring him a little before you made a move. Dean grew impatient waiting for you to strike so he came at you, swinging his right fist. Using your size to the advantage, you duck under his swing, hooking your foot in his as you slip past and behind him, waiting for him to advance again. He stumbled a little but caught himself, turning to face you again. You continued to fight on the defensive for a little while longer, only dodging and not striking, until you saw he was becoming frustrated. _Good_ , you smirk to yourself, _frustration leads to sloppy form._ This time when he came at you, you blocked the blow, answering it with your own. The endless days of running the combat dances came quite in handy as your muscle memory took over, moving your body smoothly from punch to kick, to block, to a quick swoop in while he was unbalanced, hooking your leg behind his and dumping him solidly on his back.

Quick as a flash, you were beside him, knee resting gently on his windpipe. Dean looked slightly shocked for just a moment before covering up the expression with a scowl. “Fine, you can use the size difference to your advantage. But what happens when your opponent uses the size difference against you?” Gripping your leg, Dean forcefully flipped you onto your back, scrambling to come to rest straddling your legs with his, and holding your hands to the floor.

For a split second, panic surged through you, dark memories fighting free at his touch. Looking up you ground yourself in the not black, but green eyes above you, suppressing the unbidden flashback. Smiling cheekily to disguise your moment of fear, you say, “Well in this situation, I would do this-“ Without warning, you kneed him between the legs. Not hard enough to harm, just enough to surprise him off you. With a groaning gasp, Dean rolled to his side landing with a huff as the air whooshed out of his lungs. All sound in the room was drowned out by Sam’s whooping laughter. You turn to him, brows raised in amusement just in time to see him lose his balance, sliding down the wall to the floor, peals of merriment still flowing from him.

“Oh, shut your mouth you big howler monkey,” Dean grumbled at his incapacitated brother. He slowly pushed himself up off the floor, turning his glower from Sam to you. “Was that really necessary?” He was still slightly bent over, trying to regain his composure.

“You wanted to know if I could handle myself,” You say with false innocence, “So I showed you I could.” Unable to hold up the pretense, you chuckle a little patting Dean on the back in a slightly condescending apology. Dean just growled at you, causing you to chuckle a little more. Turning back to Sam, you notice he had picked his giant self up from his sprawl on the floor, attempting to regain his composure.  

He walked over to the two of you, struggling to keep a straight face. “What kind of weaponry have you handled before?”

“Blades mostly,” You answer simply, “Of all kinds.”

“Ever fired a gun?” Dean’s voice was closer now, having collected his damaged dignity and joined you and Sam.

You feel a little squeamish at this, knowing they will not like your answer. “Not a gun. But-“  You hasten to say, “I do have a very effective projectile weapon.” When the two men just looked at you questioningly, you walked over to your bag, pulling out a lumpy bundle. Quickly unwrapping it you explain your statement as you begin to assemble the pieces. “It’s not as small as a gun, but is very effective. I’ve even found ways to coat the bolts in different substances, depending on what is being hunted.” When they just continued to stare at you, Sam, now looking slightly intrigued and Dean’s scowl deepening you say, “It’s a crossbow pistol. Small enough for me to handle but still pretty damn deadly. And I’m a pretty good shot I do say so myself.” You said the last sentence with a slight smirk, knowing just how many people had underestimated you and suffered for it.

“A crossbow, really? What is this, the middle ages?” Dean said incredulously.

“Well it’s a lot more legal to get your hands on that most of the guns you have!” you jump to the defensive. “I won’t get arrested if I get found with this thing on me and no permit. Not everyone has the seemingly endless resources that you do!”

Sam, who had been examining all the different types of bolts you had collected and created, stepped in with a question to diffuse the situation. “When did you have time to figure all of this out?”

The heat of anger in your body cooled a little at the question, the hardship of the last year weighing on you. “When you step into the world of monsters, you can’t just stick to hunting down the one you want- other monsters cross your path. I figured things out on the run and with all the reading I’ve done since you brought me here, I realize that there were a lot of close calls with things that I didn’t know how to defeat.”

“You see why I don’t want you to come?” Dean asked, pushing to plant himself right in front of you. “There is so much about this world that you don’t know yet. Why expose yourself to it more? Why would you want to when you could just stay safe and not have to witness this world anymore?” His eyes searched yours, looking for an answer he could understand.

“Because Dean, I have already witnessed the darkness of the life you lead. I’ve lived that darkness, had it thrust upon me against my will. There is no going back, no ignoring it now. And if I can help save other people from having their blissful ignorance ripped from them as well, then I will. Something good might as well come out of my darkness.” Your voice was quiet, fervent as you tried to convey to him how truly important it was that you did this.

He stared you down a little longer, almost as if he understood your answer but still didn’t like it, so he hoped you would retract it. His face clouded over, but he turned away before you could figure out what emotion it was playing across his face. It almost looked like frustration, or maybe anger. _Why would he be angry at me?_ You thought to yourself, feeling a little small. As he started to walk away, Dean growled a little, deep in his throat. “Fine!”

You stared at him confused for a moment, “Does that mean I can start coming with you?” He didn’t answer with anything but another low grumble as he slammed through the doors.

“I think that means yes,” Sam said. Then he slung a lanky arm over your tiny form, his huge frame having to hunch a little to compensate for your lack of height. “Welcome to the team, (Y/N).”

~

It took exactly 24 hours for Sam to find a case to take. It was what they called a “simple salt and burn.” A misleading title since pretty much nothing about this life was simple. A life made much harder when the people around you start acting differently and you have no idea what you did to cause it. Since storming out of the workout room the day before, Dean had refused to speak one word to you, wouldn’t even look at you. He slammed around the bunker in a foul mood, the tension pouring off him, leaving an uncomfortable air wherever he went.

His angry dismissal hurt. You didn’t know the boys very well, but you had begun to think of them as friends. And to be honest, they were they only people in the world you were on friendly terms with right now, so each time Dean pointedly ignored you or blatantly left a room as you entered, it tore you apart at little more. _What did I do?_ You mused, _Surely, he can’t be this pissed just because I proved I could take care of myself? That’s ridiculous, right?_ He couldn’t keep this up forever, eventually Dean would have to break down and talk to you. Or so you hoped.

Sam found a case before Dean broke. You had just walked into the library to find both of them sitting at the table bickering quietly. “You gonna stop acting like a dick so we can work this case in peace?” Sam was saying, glaring over his computer screen at his brother.  

“Shove off, Sam. It’s none of your business.” Dean snapped. He was hunched over the table, clutching a beer like his life depended on it, scowling at nothing in particular. You stood in the doorway, studying his shoulders, wondering if you should say something or come in. His body was curling around itself, shoulders caving in as if trying to protect himself from an unseen force bearing down on him. Before you had a chance to make up your mind, Sam spotted you over Dean’s head, and smiled quietly, a line of worry between his brows.

“Hey, (y/n),” Dean stiffened at Sam’s words. “We have a case. A vengeful spirit a couple of hours away. It should be a simple salt and burn. We leave in an hour. Go ahead and pack your gear.” With that, Dean abruptly shoved his chair back from the table, standing up and striding from the room. In order to leave, he had to walk right past you and yet he still refused to even acknowledge that you existed. His eyes fixed straight ahead, never straying your way, his familiar warm musk enveloped you as he shoved past. The feeling in your gut was vaguely similar to the sensation of a blade being twisted inside a wound. But this time, instead of just pain, his actions brought anger as well. A slow burning fury that started with the twisting blade in your stomach and spread out to the very tips of your fingers and toes, filling every inch of your flesh.

Without a word to Sam, you wheeled around and stormed down the hall after Dean. You were tired of being treated this way. Anger danced like fire over your skin, causing goose bumps to ripple across the flesh of your arms. As far as you knew, you had done nothing to earn that man’s wrath. _I’ll be damned if I let him walk all over me, making me feel bad for hell knows what!_ It was time for Dean Winchester to stop acting like a child and face his problems. Reaching his closed door, you slammed in without even bothering to knock. The door flung open with a resounding crash, causing the man sitting on the bed to jump in surprise, before glaring at you.

“Dean Winchester, I have had enough!” you shout without preamble. “I refuse to just lay down and let you treat me like shit without so much as an explanation! Cause, goodness knows, I’ve been wracking my brain for some sort of explanation.” Against your wishes, your heart squeezed a little, voice cracking. “What I have with you and Sam is the closest thing I’ve had to a friendship in a year, and I’m not about to let you throw that away without a damn good reason!” Dean kept a glower fixed on his face the entire time you yelled at him, until that last comment, and then his face softened almost imperceptibly. When you continued with a broken, “Please, you have to give me something,” he thrust himself up from the bed and strode toward you with a surprising speed.

Unsure of the large man’s intentions, you stumbled back a few steps, but before you could really get away, Dean was upon you. Calloused hands gripped your upper arms, thrusting you back against the open door. Immediately the warmth of his body was pressed firmly against yours, causing the memory filled part of your brain to panic. You grip his shirt in your fists, preparing to push him away, fight back, anything to protect yourself. And then without warning, Dean bent his height down to meet your lips with his. You froze, paralyzed with shock. But only for a moment. The soft, sweet mouth caressing your lips was causing heat to flush through your body, settling in your core. The kiss wasn’t rough, but had an air of desperation, like he had to taste you, take you in before you disappeared. If he hadn’t completely stolen your breath away, you would have whimpered in the most undignified manner when his mouth pulled away.

You stared you at him, breathless, unsure what to say. All you managed was a shaky, “Dean…” before he pressed his mouth back to yours, stealing your breath away yet again. His hands shifted from your arms, one cupping your face, the other slipping around your waist and pulling you even closer to him. This kiss held more passion, his lips moving like heaven against yours. And without realizing it, you find yourself kissing back, matching his level of desire. At the gentle slip of his tongue across your lower lip, you open your mouth, practically begging him to kiss you deeper. Too soon, Dean breaks the kiss again, sucking in much needed air. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed, both of you panting quietly. Opening his eyes, he stared at you with that impossible green shining brightly.

“The people I care for end up dead. Always. I get them killed. I can’t afford to care for you… b-but I can’t stop.” His voice was rough, strained as he forced out the words that were so hard for him to say. Once he said them though, you completely understood his behavior in the last day. He cared for you, but convinced that it was his fault that everyone around him died, he wanted to keep you safe. As soon as you decided to start hunting with them, Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to protect you. It was safer to push you away, ruin any chance of you caring for him in the same manner. You wouldn’t be a target that way. You understood his reasoning, but that didn’t make it right.

“Don’t be such a dumbass, Dean,” you huffed, “Even if I didn’t choose to hunt with you guys, you wouldn’t be able to protect me forever. Better to bring me with and teach me to scare the crap out of monsters instead of leaving me helpless and useless down here.”

Dean chuckled a little, cupping your face with both hands, he said, “I have a hard time believing you have ever been helpless. Monsters should tremble at the mere thought of you.” With that he bent back down, brushing his lips against yours in the most agonizingly gentle kiss.

“I see you two have worked out your differences.” You both startle at the sound of Sam’s voice, turning your faces to look wide eyed at him. He towered above them in the hall, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in what you hoped was just mock disapproval. Suddenly you realized how you two must look from the outside: Your hands were still clenched in Dean’s shirt, his hands cupped your face, bodies pressed together, panting for breath with swollen lips. You and Dean probably looked like a mess. Dean seemed to realize it at the same time, and simultaneously you released each other and stepped back.

“Sam- “You start, but he cuts you off.

“If you are coming on this hunt, I would suggest you go pack your gear.” His voice was quiet, a little too tightly controlled, and it terrified you. With a quick nod, you slip past him, heading down the hall to your room. As you reach your door, you hear him say, “You are not going anywhere, Dean. We need to talk.”

_Ah Crap_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always happy to hear your thoughts!


	10. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean argue, and the three of you are off to chase a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of a filler with little action, the next chapter will make up for that ;)

Dean’s POV

 Dean kept his back turned to Sam as the door closed with an ominous click behind them. He could feel the tension emanating from his brother and he knew without a doubt that this was a conversation he really did not want to have.

“What do you think you are doing Dean?” Although Sam managed to keep from yelling his question, he still radiated displeasure.

Dean spun around to glare up at the taller man. “None of your freaking business, that’s what!” Sam may be pissed, but Dean wasn’t about to let that cow him into letting him pry.

“It damn well is my business! She’s my friend Dean! (y/n) is hurting, vulnerable, and has had no chance to really process what’s happened to her in the last year. Do you really think that she is strong enough to deal with being just another one of your flings?” With each word, his voice rose in volume, making Dean quickly cover up a flinch as the bellow accosted him. At Sam’s question, the shorter man drew himself up to full height, eyes flashing as he bore down on the other man.

“Just another fling? That’s what you think this is?” His volume was only marginally lower than Sam’s. “Is that what you really think of me? That I would take advantage of how vulnerable she is? That I would intentionally hurt a friend like that?”

“You forget I’ve seen you pick up girls at bars. Exploiting the insecurities of vulnerable women is what you do!” Sam’s voice was biting, dripping with poison. He hated to think how broken (y/n) would be when she discovered that she was just the next in a long line of used women waking up from their one night stand.

Dean’s voice took on a desperate defensive quality as he said, “It’s not like that! I wouldn’t do that to her!”

“What makes this so different than any other time?”

“This isn’t just some fling! That’s what!” Dean’s indignation made Sam’s eyes roll, before his next question took the wind right out of his big brother’s sails.

“Then what is it?”

Dean slumped down on the bed, unable to meet Sam in the eyes. “I -I don’t know.”

“Well she’s off limits, until you figure out what it is. Because, if you hurt her, I swear to God, you will regret it!” Sam crossed his arms, looming over the man on the bed, attempting to be imposing. He was getting better at it, but Dean still managed to see through the hard façade most of the time.

Looking up, Dean got a small smirk on his face before cheekily saying, “You just want her to stick around cause no one else will make you breakfast.” That put a crack in the tension, helping the atmosphere in the room to ease up just slightly. _Maybe that will put an end to this conversation._

Sam huffed a small laugh and whined a little, “ _Dean!”_ Before he pressed on with his point, “I mean, come on Dean, she’s gotta be barely twenty-five. That makes you _at least_ ten years older than her. Don’t you think that maybe means you should keep it in your pants?”

“Dude, do you even know me at all?” Dean tried to say light heartedly attempting to distract him with a joke, but was thinking, _Like a dog with a bone- can’t let this go, can he?_ “Besides age isn’t really a factor here, is it?  Life experiences are more important than a number and she’s had more than enough for one lifetime.”

“Whatever you tell yourself so you can sleep at night, Dean.” Sam’s condescension made Dean snarl a little in disgust.

“Shut up, Sammy. And get out so I can pack.” Dean deliberately turned his back so Sam would get the hint and leave. This was a conversation that he was dead set on not continuing.

Sam just stood there a moment longer before shuffling to the door. His footsteps paused momentarily as he pulled it open. “I mean it, (y/n) is off limits until you get your shit together and figure out what this thing is between you.” And then he was gone, leaving no room for an indignant protest.

~

Reader POV

Fidgeting nervously, you leaned up against the impala, bag of gear at your feet. The boys were taking quite a while to get ready. Had they changed their minds? Were they not going to let you hunt with them? Or did Sam still have Dean cornered in his room? Were you in trouble? _I don’t see anything wrong with what happened…. dammit, what is taking them so long?_

Just as you were pushing up off the cold metal of the car, intent on checking to see what was taking them so long, Dean slammed into the garage. Relief washed through you. Oh good, they weren’t going to leave you behind after all. The relief was short lived as he pushed past you without a word; lips grimly pressed together, eyes intently trained away from you. The hurt stabbed at you. _This again?_ You just could not understand what was going on with this man! And people say women are fickle!

Dean hurled his duffle into the trunk and then threw himself into the driver’s seat, looking for all the world like a child having a tantrum. Really? This big bad hunter was sulking? That was quite unbecoming behavior for a grown man his age. You opened your mouth to tell him just that, when Sam entered the garage, looking only a little less ruffled than Dean. As soon as he saw you, he put on one of his calming smiles and clapped you on the shoulder.

“Ready to go hunting, (y/n)?” He asked. At your nod, he grabbed your bag and put it in the trunk with his. As you slid into the back seat, you couldn’t contain your excitement. Finally getting back out on the road, in the real world, doing something useful!

Your excitement quickly morphed into highly uncomfortable boredom. Dean turned his music up too loud for real conversation as soon as the engine roared to life, and spent the several hours of the drive sulking in stony silence. You weren’t sure what was thicker- the tension, or the testosterone coming off both Winchesters in whatever silent battle of wills they were fighting. The only time Dean spoke to you was when you propped your feet up against the back-passenger window in an attempt to find a comfortable position. You were surprised when he reached over the seat and slapped the back of your head.

“Get your feet off of there! Geeze, respect the car or walk the rest of the way!” His voice was gruff, and extremely grouchy, but not that angry. You dropped your feet down anyway, head stinging from the blow. Too busy trying to find another comfortable position, you missed Sam glaring at his brother, warning him to behave.

A couple of hours later, you were startled out of a light snooze, when the constantly booming music was suddenly turned off. “I’m hungry! We’re stopping to get something to eat.” With that declaration, Dean turned off the highway, following signs that promised food.

“Dean, we are like twenty minutes from our stop. You can wait just a little bit longer and get food in town.” Sam sounded like he was talking to a naughty child.

“No, I’m hungry now.” Dean’s petulant tone justified Sam talking to him like he was a child. “And since we are only twenty minutes away, it won’t hurt to stop now for a little food.”

“Fine, whatever.”

Not sure exactly what was going on here, you really hoped that the whole hunt wasn’t going to be this uncomfortable. As soon as the car rolled to a stop in front of some greasy spoon diner, you jumped out, unable to handle them in such a confined space any more. “I’ll go get us a table.” Neither of them acknowledged you as they continued to bicker, unfolding themselves from the front seats and locking up the car.

“I don’t see why you have to keep acting like such a dick, Dean. It wouldn’t kill you to at least try to be pleasant.”

“Why bother? You said off limits- don’t want you getting the wrong idea- “ Dean didn’t get to finish his growled reply as Sam cut in.

“I said off limits, not act like an asshole….” The rest of their argument was blessedly cut off as the diner door swung shut behind you. The older lady at the counter looked over her glasses at you, smiling kindly.

“What can I do for you, young lady?” Her voice oozed comfort, the kind that a grandma who loved to give out hugs might have. She looked particularly huggable too- her short frame covered in soft ample curves that would pad a warm embrace. You find yourself wondering if she smelled like chocolate chip cookies when hugged. Shaking your head a little, you pull away from such ridiculous thoughts.

“Table for three, please.” Your voice sounded strange to your ears in this quiet room after so many hours of blaring music blocking all else out. The lady grabbed up a few menus and beckoned you to follow her deeper into the building. She sat you at a booth by the window, setting down the menus.

“Breakfast is no longer being served, lunch is still available for the next thirty minutes, dinner is available all night. Our special today is smoked salmon, and we carry Coke products, and no beer.” The speech was clearly practiced, but she deviated from the walk through of the menu to ask, “Will the rest of your party be joining you shortly?”

Glancing up from the menu, you mutter, “I dunno, lemme check.” Outside the window, the boys are still clearly arguing with each other. Knocking firmly on the glass, you get their attention, and raise your hands in a clearly irritated, ‘Are you coming already?’ gesture. They at least had the decency to look ashamed of themselves before turning and heading toward the diner entrance. Looking back to the waitress, you grinned, “Yep, here they come now.”

Instead of sharing your amusement, her brows snapped together in a look of concerned, motherly disapproval. “What’s a young lady like yourself doing traveling alone with a couple men of that sort?”

You huffed a little in surprise at the unexpected query, but were rescued from answering when Sam plopped himself firmly down next to you in the booth, crowding you with his endless arms. “Ugh, Sam!” You shoved his shoulder with both hands. “Sit on the other side, there’s too much of you to fit another person on a bench with you.” This elicited a chuckle from both the boys, and you could feel their mood lighten as Sam followed your demand. Dean quickly slid into the now vacant seat next to you, turning a charming smile on the older waitress, still standing there, giving them calculating looks.

“Afternoon, ma’am. Could we start out with a few ice-cold cokes, please?” You look quickly at him. Did he just say please? _Really turning on the charm there, dude._

“Water for me please,” Sam quickly interjected.

Their sudden politeness seemed to put the lady’s misgivings at ease. She smiled sweetly at them, “I’ll be back to get your order in just a jiffy.” And with that, she was gone, drawing up their drinks.

Their argument seemed to have released some of the built-up hostility, because the conversation over their meal was light and easy. Dean poked fun at Sam and his salad, and you teased Dean for the sheer volume of food he could consume in one setting. The pleasant hour in the diner ended with Dean delightedly moaning into a piece of pie as you looked on in horror.

Turning to Sam you asked, “Does he always eat pie like he’s filming a porno?” Sam laughed so hard at your question, he could only nod- and couldn’t help but continue laughing as Dean finished his pie and stared you down while attempting to lick his fork clean in a cheesily seductive manner. Yanking the fork out of his grasp you glare at him before changing the subject entirely. “So, what do I need to know for this case?”

The mood immediately turned serious, Sam pulling out a manila folder and flopping it open I front of you as Dean said, “Right, down to business.”

“We have to confirm, but we believe the ghost to be the spirit of Lizzie Bartholomew. It happened thirty years ago, 24-year-old Lizzie was held captive in the warehouse in question for five years, before being brutally murdered by her captors. Sine the murder, every five years exactly, a few twenty somethings go missing, last having been seen at the warehouse. It’s a popular place for the younger crowd to hide out and get high. The body count gets higher with every cycle. It started with just one the first time and has doubled each five-year cycle. Kids started going missing last week again, three so far.”

You sat quietly, listening as Sam detailed out the case. When he finished, you said, “We need to stop this before the body count gets any higher. What’s the plan?” Sam and Dean exchanged uncomfortable glances, careful to not look at you. They didn’t even have to say anything for you to realize what they were thinking. Your chest tightened a little in apprehension. “Ah, I’m the bait… ok, let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience waiting for the chapter! I can only hope the next one doesn't take so long!


	11. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a hunt with the boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that! An update before another week has passed. A person gets sick and suddenly there is all sorts of time to work on things. Sadly, don't get used to it, real life starts back up on Monday.

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean reminded you for what felt like the hundredth time. They had hated asking you, using bait wasn’t really their style, but it was their best bet to keep Lizzie's spirit distracted while they found out what she was bound to. Of course, she had to have been cremated.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to glare at Dean. “Yes, thank you, I got that the first hundred times you said it.” Repressing the sarcasm was a struggle, but you managed to sound a little less irritated as you continued, “Look- I want to do this. Any way I can help. I’ve been on my own before remember? I’ll have iron bolts in my crossbow and plenty of salt. I’ll be fine ok?” You turn to walk away, only to be yanked back by Dean’s bruising grip on your arm. He spun you roughly back to face him.

“Stick to the plan ok? You do exactly what we say, when we say it, understand?” He stared you down, reinforcing his growled commands with a green-eyed glare that pierced through you. The glare did not keep you from avoiding a direct answer to his command.

“These things rarely go to plan you know.” The attempt at innocence in your voice did not fool him, and he continued the glare, giving you a little shake.

“Do. You. Understand?” Each word was stressed, commanding an acknowledgement.

Throwing your hands up in surrender, you brush him off with a quick, “Yes, fine,” before yanking out of his grasp and stalking away to retrieve your bag.

~

An hour later, you stood inside the warehouse, crossbow in hand, iron rod tucked up your sleeve, as you watched Dean pour a circle of salt around you. Sam stood on guard, shotgun in hand, scanning the open expanse of the room. Dean finished the circle, coming to stand squarely in front of you.

“Do not leave this circle for anything- Do you hear me?” His voice was firm, each word clearly pronounced so there was no way you could misinterpret his meaning.  

This time you manage to control an eye roll- barely. “I hear you. Stay put, follow orders.” Dean gave you one last glare before heading off into the warehouse.

Sam hesitated following for a moment, a small smirk on his face as he chuckled and said, “Good puppy, stay!” You glared fiercely and flipped him off, only making him laugh harder.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted from the doorway, “Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Sam shook his head with one last chuckle before turning and following after his brother.

Watching them disappear out the door, you settled down to wait for the spirit to appear. You just needed to keep her distracted long enough for the boys to find and destroy what was keeping her here. Time passed slowly, the cold creeping into your bones, still nothing happened. Twenty minutes went by, and you began to wonder if you were even in the right warehouse when a commotion erupted behind the door to your left. A shotgun blast and shouting rang through the air. This was all wrong, Lizzie was supposed to go after people in their twenties only, why was she after the boys? Maybe they were too close to what was holding her on earth. They were never going to be able to destroy it if she kept attacking them like that. _She needs to be distracted,_ you thought.

Taking only a split second to think about it, you knew what needed to be done. You sucked in a deep breath, steeling yourself before you stepped defiantly outside the circle shouting, “Oh Lizzie! Fresh meat!”

The commotion in the other room came to an abrupt halt, the night slipping into unnatural stillness. In a flash, the ghost of a young woman stood before you, clothes ripped, face gaunt, and wounds forever bleeding. She reached out and with a supernatural strength, grabbed you by your throat, and the next thing you knew, you were flying through the air, landing with a skid across the cement floor. Gasping for air through your bruised airway, you struggled to regain your footing. Before you were all the way up, she was there again, punching you in your chest and sending you sprawling. As you lay there, blinking stars from your eyes, she advanced on you, a knife shimmering into existence in her pale fist.

You struggled to scramble away, but didn’t get very far before she was upon you, dragging that unnatural knife down your chest. You bite your lip, refusing to cry out. The wound was long and shallow, meant to cause more pain than harm. You could see it mirrored a long weeping gash on Lizzie’s own chest, starting at the collar bone and curving down her right breast. Well at least if she was going to inflict the same torture on you that she had gone through, the boys would have plenty of time to find and burn the object.

The spirit leaned down to thrust the blade into your flesh once more, but stopped abruptly, mouth wide in a silent shriek as she went up in flames. You let yourself go limp with relief for just a moment, before forcing yourself back up onto your feet. Regaining your balance, you see Sam and Dean enter the room, looking beaten but triumphant. The triumph wavers a little when they see you, injured and clearly no longer in the circle. Sam immediately rushed over to you, checking over the extend of your wounds, worry creased deeply between his brows.

Dean on the other hand, strode silently over to the salt circle, examining it with guarded eyes. He flicks his gaze back up to you, and says, a little too calmly, “The circle is unbroken, how did she get to you?”

“Well she was ignoring me, and going after you- so I distracted her by stepping out of the circle.” The fury on Dean’s face, scared you a little making you take a step back as he advanced on you.

“I should throw you over my knee right now and paddle your ass!” He bellowed. “I told you to stay put!”

“E-excuse me?” You stutter out, completely flustered by his statement.

Sam shifted uncomfortably next to you and said quietly, “I’m gonna go out and get the med kit now.”

Catching his shirt before he could step away you insist, “Oh, no you don’t! You are not leaving me alone with this lunatic!” Dean snarled in response and strode toward you, gripping your upper arms in his bruising fists and giving you a vicious shake.

“You were told to stick to the plan! The plan was meant to keep you from getting hurt!”

“Yeah, but-“  You gasped in pain as he shook you again, cutting off your argument. “Dean…”  He refused to let go, staring you down until you looked away. When your eyes dropped, you noticed the mark on his right arm glowing faintly. _Oh,_ was all you could think. That’s why he was reacting so strongly.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was firm, drawing the fierce green gaze away from you as he laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Let her go. It’s time to cool off and get control.” Without warning, Dean dropped you like a hot rock, causing you to stumble as he retreated out the door.

~

Back at the motel, Sam helped you clean and bandage the slice on your chest. Dean had yet to return and you had no idea whether to be relieved, continue seething, or be concerned. Mark of Cain or no, he couldn’t keep treating you this way. His mood swings were giving you whiplash. The bruises where he gripped your arms were throbbing painfully. With a start, you realize Sam had finished with your chest and was gently smoothing a cool salve over the purple finger marks on your arms.

“Dean may have overreacted,” Sam broke the silence, “but you really should have stayed inside the circle.”

“Oh, please! You too?” You stand up, pulling away from Sam sharply. “What is it with you Winchesters? I’m not a child, I am a grown ass woman, I make my own decisions. If I didn’t step out of the circle, she would have just kept beating on you. What I did was a calculated risk and it gave you the time you needed to find and burn what held her here. This is not my first rodeo- I’m not breakable, I can hunt and not fall to pieces at the first hit!”

Sam held up his hands in surrender, stemming your scathing rant. “Alright I’m sorry! We forget that you aren’t as new to this as it seems. You’re just so young….” He trailed off at the devastation in your eyes that you were trying, and failing, to suppress.

“I’m really not though- not young, not anymore.” You look down, turning away to slide your arms into your worn jacket.

“I wish you would tell us what happened.” His voice was quiet, taking on a tone of both pleading and sympathy. Gently, you put your hand on his shoulder.

“Someday- I’m just not ready yet.” Sam startled you by wrapping big his arms around you in a brief hug, before releasing you and standing to riffle through his bag. Watching him pull out a toothbrush, you realize that this day had suddenly become too much for you and you were in serious need of quiet time to process. “I’ll take the couch tonight. Don’t wait up for me, I’m gonna go get some air.”

Sam had just entered the bathroom, but stopped and ducked his head back out again when he heard you, worry lines between his brows. “You sure that’s such a good idea?”

“Remember Sam? Grown ass woman- I can protect myself.” When the worry lines don’t not smooth from his forehead, you said, “Look, I’ll take my phone for if something happens, and I always have my knife with me.”

“Okay,” He said, still not sure. “Stay out of trouble, would you?”

“Me?” You said with mock innocence, “When am I ever in trouble?”

He snorted in response. “Please, you almost attract as much trouble as Dean does!”

“Rude!” You say, sticking your tongue out. Sam’s chuckle follows you as you leave the room. The air is chill, its fingers worming its way through the seams of your old leather jacket. Hunching your shoulders to fend off most of the cold, you set off down the street at a brisk pace, hoping it will warm you.

About ten minutes down the road, you pass a tiny, seedy looking bar, loud music pouring out of its open doors. For a moment, you consider going in, knowing a drink would warm your cold bones. Your feet falter in their pace as you contemplate, before firmly turning and continuing to walk past the bar. The place looked like the kind full to bursting with shady characters and Sam did ask you to stay out of trouble. Someone your size, and alone, would just scream for some douche bag to single you out. Looking down the street, you see an old covered bridge, just in view of the bar. This looked like the perfect place to sit and clear your head for a while.

Hastening to the bridge, you clamber up to sit on the railing and stare down at the trickling stream, moving sluggishly below. Arms wrapped around a support beam, your thoughts turn to the events of the day. Dean’s furious face floats into your mind’s eye. He was being unreasonable, and you knew part of it was because of the mark- but not all of it. Sam had tried to assure you that it was just because he was scared for you, but that didn’t keep your chest from tightening a little from hurt. Though the pain didn’t just stem from his anger. Yesterday’s kiss almost hurt worse than Dean’s fury. He had taken your breath away, brought you so close, only to shove you away again- every angry word and action thrusting you further from him.

You were so caught up, wrestling with your hurt and anger, that you did not hear the several pairs of feet stride onto the bridge behind you until two sets of hands grabbed you, roughly yanking you down from the railing. You gasp at the wrenching pain of both your arms being twisted up behind your back, then the hands, belonging to two men in dark suits, lifted you completely off the ground, turning you bodily to face a third man standing watching on the bridge. He was a slightly shorter man with short dark hair and a closely trimmed beard. His expensive black suit made it hard to see where he ended and the shadows began. As he strode closer, his bright eyes and silver tie flashed in the little light reaching into the darkness of the bridge.

Pausing before you, he smiled charmingly, “Hello, Sweetheart.” His voice lilted with an English accent, making him seem more posh than his black silk suit already had.

“Who are you?” You didn’t dare ask _what_ he was- because you already knew down in your gut that this man and his lackeys were demons. You didn’t need a flash of changing eye color or a show of power. From the very moment they laid hands on your skin, you knew.

The Demon in front of you smirked delightedly. “I am your worst nightmare.”

“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.” Your voice is strangely calm, almost conversational, but very quickly developed a feral snarl as you say, “My worst nightmare is dead- he was killed by Dean Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here enters Crowley. I always like to hear your comments! Thanks for sticking with the story!


	12. Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wants a little chat with the reader.

_“My worst nightmare is dead- he was killed by Dean Winchester.”_

You watch in fascination as the demon before you reeled back a step, a look of shock flitting across his face before being quickly replaced by a mask of distain. He turned and paced away a moment, a whispered “Bollox!” not quite being masked by the sounds of his feet. Whirling back to face you, he approaches once again, face a passive mask.

“How in the bloody hell did the Winchesters get mixed up in this one?” His furious tone belied the calmness on his face, revealing the frustration beneath.

“How do the Winchesters get mixed up in anything? They get a whiff of monsters and come running.” You try to make your tone light, try not to give away the fact that you have no idea what the heck he is talking about. “Care to tell me what ‘this one’ is? They are mixed up in so many things you know.”

A knowing smile spread slowly across his face, and you know he’s caught on that you don’t know what is going on. “Ah- so either the Hardy boys haven’t been honest with you about what is going on, or they don’t know yet what they’ve blundered into.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me whether or not I want to know.”

“Oh really?” The quirk of his eye brow was a silent challenge.

You take a deep breath, praying that your brash gamble will pay off. “Well yeah, you clearly like the sound of your own voice. You could probably natter away all night. I’m certain these lads,” you gesture with your head at the large men holding your arms, “are probable sick of listening to you.”

The Demons try and fail to hide their scoffing, refusing to look at their infuriated master who was quickly turning an interesting shade of burgundy. “You,” He said, pointing harshly, “have been spending far too much time with Dean.”

Doing your best to shrug while restrained, you say, “He rubs off on a person.” He turned away again, collecting himself, before turning back around, phony smile fixed back in place.

“Your demon friend was up to something. A special little project, he apparently felt necessary to keep from me. But you see my dear,” He spread his hands apart in a grand gesture, “I’m the King of Hell, you can’t keep anything from me!”

“And what does this have to do with me?” You intoned, voice flat with carefully crafted boredom.

“Patience, poppet, I’m just getting there.” He looked at his men, twirling his finger, lazily in the air. They immediately grabbed your shoulders forcing you to turn your back to the demon in front of you. He stepped up uncomfortably close behind you, hot breath on your neck. “See he was gathering up specific people, breaking them and then branding them, and letting them loose again. Most folks with the mark committed suicide within a month of their release, but not you. The moron then boasted to the few open ears in my court that he was making progress, his experiment moving to the next stage. Do you know why he chose you? You and not another to leave his mark on?” You stood frozen, too shocked to move or answer, as he leaned yet closer, his voice low in your ear, “Because you are special.”

At this your mind balked, making you struggle to push him, and the ugly memories rearing their head away from you. The bastard who tortured you used to call you that. In the intimate recesses of the dark, pulling you close to him, thrusting, and beating at you, he would lean down and whisper hot and low into your ear, _“You are mine! Yes, my special girl!”_

The men on either side of you held fast as you bucked in their grip. “How do you even know it’s me he was talking about? It could be anyone!” You growled at him through clenched teeth.

“Because of this!” He took a step back and thrust your shirt up your back exposing the flesh of your lower half. He ran his icy fingers along the overlapping twists and turns branded in a circle on your back. “It really is a thing of beauty. He always did have a flair for the dramatic though, it could have easily been a tattoo- no need for the nasty scarring that a brand makes.”

Your breathing was coming too fast now, making your head swim. The memories bombarded you, overwhelming your mind. In response, your knees began to tremble, the threat of passing out growing with every passing second. The demon’s next question brought you back to the present with a snap.

“Tell me, what was the end game?” He spoke low and confident, believing he had the trembling girl before he fully under his power. He was completely taken off guard when instead of spilling the answers out for him, you straightened your back, and got your legs back under you, turning your head to try and look defiantly at the man behind you.

“You mean you don’t know?” His silence was all the truth you needed. “If he didn’t tell the ‘almighty’ king of hell, do you really think he would tell his test subject? How much of an idiot are you?”

He growled under his breath, muttering something like, “Pick targets that Moose and Squirrel haven’t gotten their hands on- too much sodding sass wears off on them.” After a moment of ranting and growling he said, “Turn her back around and secure her, we will just have to take the little prize with us until we solve the mystery.”

“Woo, a regular Scooby doo episode.” Your scathing sarcasm made him glare darkly at you before turning around and striding disgustedly off the bridge. The men moved to follow, dragging you with them when the King of Hell stopped dead in his tracks, a shadowy figure appearing before him, the flash of a blade pressed to his throat.

“Care to tell me just what the hell is going on here, Crowley?” Dean’s voice drifted to you, low and dangerous, causing a small shiver of relief to shoot through your limbs.

“Squirrel, what a pleasant surprise…” Crowley was cut off from his oily response by a growl from Dean.

“Cut with the pleasantries-  Explain yourself or I dispense with you and your goons right now.”

Straightening his suit coat in an attempt to regain his dignity, Crowley said haughtily, “Right to business then. Your little pet here- “

“Not his pet!” You insert from behind, incensed.

“Hush baby, the grownups are talking.” Crowley turned his attention back to Dean, ignoring your strangled protests. “As I was saying- your pet is the center of a mystery left behind by one of my subordinates. I am in the middle of unravelling the enigma that is her significance to the experiment.”

“What experiment?” Dean shifted the knife away a little, still on guard, but in a stance that threatened a little less spilling of blood.

Crowley crossed his arms, “Now Dean, it wouldn’t be very strategic of me to reveal all of my cards to you, now would it?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting in the grasp of the men still holding you. “He doesn’t know.”

“Must you insist on continuing to interrupt?” Crowley whirled around to fix you with a baleful stare.

Dean’s chuckle warmed you a little, making a smile curl the very corner of your mouth. “Infuriating, isn’t she?”

“ _She_ would like to be let go, _if you don’t mind!_ ”

Crowley heaved sigh, sounding heavily put upon. “Release her, lads. We will just be going now- “

“You aren’t going anywhere! Sam and I are going to have a nice chat with you, and you are going to tell us everything you _do_ know about that bastard’s experiment.” The ferocity in Dean’s voice made you think maybe the chat wasn’t going to very nice at all. Crowley muttered under his breath, something about people being uppity with the king of hell, but he clearly couldn’t resist the draw of solving his mystery. Once again, he straightened his suit.

“Very well. Come on, lads, shall we?”

“Oh no- Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb are not coming with us.”

Dean and Crowley argued animatedly for a while before the demon finally agreed to leave behind his escort. The walk back was filled with awkward silence. Crowley miffed, and Dean incensed; Dean shot you a look that promised a chat later about what you were doing out alone. You already knew that it was going to be another “I can look after myself” argument that no one was going to listen to.

Back at the motel room, Sam opened the door to stare in turn at Dean and Crowley, before turning his gaze to you. “(y/n), this is not what I meant when I said stay out of trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok here is the over due update. I have to sincerely apologize- I have three different stories having a battle royal in my brain right now. I will be continuing to update this story, probably the same frequency as right now, but if there is a longer than normal pause, just know it's because another story is demanding my attention as well. Stories are so needy you know ;) I will not abandon this tale, I promise! As usual, I love to hear your comments.


	13. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the bunker, the reader is struggling with the boy's overprotectiveness and the pain of memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, here is the next update at last! I'm so sorry for the delay. I've literally been so tired, I've been spending more time sleeping over the computer than I have writing. I promise the next one will be up much sooner!

 

Back at the bunker, you sat in your room stewing with irritation. It had been a week since the first encounter with Crowley- a week of heated arguments, anger, and hurt. Both Sam and Dean had a few choice things to say about you wandering so far alone.

  _“You need to take self-preservation more seriously (Y/N).” Sam had said._

_“Once again Sam- big girl, make my own decisions. I can take care of myself.” You were seriously tired of having them try to control the choices you made ever since leaving the bunker with them._

_Dean huffed in anger behind you, all but shouting. “Obviously not! This is the second time in two months we’ve had to pull your ass out of the fire!” That comment felt like a low blow- it certainly hurt like one. Turning your back so they could not see the pain you fought to keep from your face, you said the only thing you knew would get them off your case for now._

_“Maybe I didn’t want to be saved.” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew they heard- knew they had no idea how to respond. The silence in the room was deafening. Without turning back to look at them, you left the library._

They had left you alone for a while after that- Crowley coming and going as he pleased, Castiel suspiciously absent. It didn’t keep them at bay forever though, and two days later you were at the same argument all over again with Dean. Why would nobody listen to you! You were a grown woman, you’d been on your own in the world of monsters for a whole year, and you’d lived just fine. The Winchesters come along and suddenly decide you are incapable of keeping yourself alive. You were convinced you did a pretty good job helping on your first hunt with them, and it wasn’t your fault Crowley decided to pick on you- why were they so upset?

They seemed just as frustrated that you didn’t understand their concern. Which is the only reason the fights continued to happen. If you had your way, nothing else would have been said after the first fight, but they just kept bringing it up. Half way through the week, deciding enough was enough, you packed your meager possessions and tried to slip out of the bunker. Only to come face to face with Crowley, who had just appeared outside and was waiting for somebody to break the warding so he could enter.

_“Hello love, going somewhere?” He had said. He looked you over with a pompous air that made you want to punch his poncy face. Though that may have just been because you were so agitated from the last few days. Groaning dramatically, knowing he would alert the Winchesters and they would just come charging in to change your mind, you slammed the door in his face, going back to your room. No one mentioned the brief attempt to leave, and the fights continued without letup._

You were in your room now- exhausted from an entire week of arguments and hurt. Exhausted, angry and unable to sleep. You sat on top of the covers, bedside lamp switched on, in nothing but Dean’s button up plaid shirt and your underthings, oblivious to the midnight chill on your bare legs as you sat staring fixedly at the little box on the bed in front of you. You had tried to open it before, but never worked up the courage to lift the lid and sift through the precious contents. Determined that tonight was the night you were going to summon the strength to face your past, you’d been here for hours, frozen, staring, unable to move an inch closer to opening the little container.

It was like facing down Pandora’s box. If opened, a whole world of bad and pain was bound to flow out- drowning you in their flood. Once all the bad was released though, would hope be able to rear its beautiful head? The fable would have listeners believe that once all evil has flowed out, all there is left to do is hope. You weren’t sure you were capable of hope anymore- you could only pray that the ancient story tellers knew what they were talking about.  Even if they did, you knew there was no way you could face the threat of your past sober. Grabbing up the box, you pad barefoot down the hall to the library, still in just the button up and underthings.

Taking a seat at the table, a glass, bottle of whiskey, and the box sit on the smooth wooden surface in front of you. Fingers trembling, you slosh the amber fluid into the glass and gulp it down, wincing past the vicious burn, as a familiar warm fuzzy feeling spread in your stomach almost immediately. Your fingers steady a little as you lovingly trace the intricate pattern carved into the surface of the box’s lid. It seemed a little less scary now- but you still can’t work up the strength to open it. So, you chug another glass, and then another. It’s only when your head begins to spin a little, senses fuzzing around the edges, that you can pull the small wooden square toward you and slowly lift the lid. Breathing erratic, heart thrumming in your chest, you reverently lift out one piece at a time, exploring them with your fingers and cherishing each tiny little memory. Not until you reached your final item, a ragged, creased photo laying innocently in the bottom of the box, did the first tear fall. You held it in your hands, gazing at the evidence of all you had lost, allowing yourself to truly grieve for the first time since everything you loved had been ripped from you and torn apart.   

 

**Dean’s POV**

Dean lay wide away on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling, attempting, and failing, to think of nothing. After the first nightmare of the night had awoken him, the screams echoing in his ears, he had decided it was better to just not sleep at all tonight. After a few more moments of unsuccessfully trying to clear his thoughts, Dean gave up with a growl.

“Screw this, I need a drink.” Thrusting his blankets aside, he rolled out of bed, scrabbling around in the dark for the pair of sweats he had discarded earlier in the evening. He swung his door open as quietly as possible, stepping silently down the hall- the last thing he needed was Sam waking up and getting on his ass for trying to drink away the guilt. He only made it about half way down the corridor when a sound from the library made him freeze, defenses up, listening intently. A broken voice floated down the hallway, singing a tune he vaguely recognized.

**“Count your blessings every day,**

**It makes the monsters go away…”**

The words were muffled, by what sounded like tears. But that made no sense- the voice, he was sure, was (y/n)’s, but she hadn’t shed a single tear the entire time she had been with them.  She was more the throw an angry tantrum type, not the break down and cry type. Sam kept trying to tell him that she was a lot like Dean, and in that aspect, he had to agree. Padding barefoot down the hallway, he was careful to make no sound as he came to stand in the doorway to the library.

(y/n) sat at the table, her back to Dean. On the table on front of her was his whiskey, a partially drunk glass, and a small box with little keep sakes scattered around it. She still hummed quietly while staring at a photo clenched tightly in her fist. He could tell from the way her shoulders shook that she was crying. Taking in this expression of severe grief, his chest ached for her. The protector in him wanted to march in and scoop her up, holding her until the tears were gone. But the tiny voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Sam, warned him that she was a tad too much like him, and would not appreciate the intrusion on such an intimately private moment. So instead of sweeping in and trying to fix the pain, he melted into the shadows of the doorway and kept a silent, unknown, vigil with her through the hours of the night.

Eventually her shoulders slumped and her head gently came to rest on the table, arm pillowing her cheek as she slept, lulled by the exhaustion of spent tears and alcohol. Once he was sure she was truly unconscious, Dean stepped out of the shadows, intent on carting her gently off to bed. Before he could scoop her up, he was distracted by the items scattered around the box on the table. As he glanced over them, horror creeped up from his stomach into his throat. The things on the table pieced together a painful puzzle of all the things that (y/n) had lost. One by one, he examined them, respectfully not touching each precious piece.

The first thing he recognized was a pair of simple wedding bands. They were the kind that young couples without a penny to their name would buy, reveling less in their market worth, and more in what they truly represented. He sighed, knowing that kind of simple apple pie life would never be his. No one was allowed to know he mourned a little what could never be, but here unseen, he allowed just a moment for the loss to shine through. Next, there were two hospital wrist bands- so small they would only fit the smallest of babies; each had a different name and date. Above those were a few photos full of tiny little cherub cheeks and pale blonde hair- blue eyes shining out of each picture almost as if they glowed. There were a couple of small pink hair clips, a dried rose, and a few letters in someone’s chicken scratch handwriting. It was the final piece, clutched tightly in her fist, that truly crushed him, forcing the memories of his own loss to the forefront of his mind. The photo was creased and ragged, clearly a much-loved item. In it (y/n) stood, arm around a burly bearded man with bright blues eyes. They each held a little blue eyed toddler girl, dressed for a day in the sun. The joy and innocence radiating from (y/n) was breathtaking- and heart breaking. Dean knew that joy would be a long time returning, and the innocence was never coming back. He knew what losing your entire world could do to a person, and wondered at the fact that the girl slumped on the table before him had been so strong in the face of devastation.

Gently, he gathered up the items and placed them back inside the box, leaving out only the photo she held so tightly in her fist. Leaning down, he placed one had behind her, tipping her back against him, then slipped the other arm under her bare knees, hoisting her up into his arms. The movement startled her from sleep, causing him to nearly drop her as she briefly flailed in his grasp.

“Dea..?” Her voice was slurred from the fuzz of whiskey and sleep. “Wha’re ya doin… Pumme dow!”

“Hold still and let me get you to bed!” Dean barked. When she winced at his tone, he tried to soften his voice a little. “Can’t you just accept help for once in your life, (y/n)?”

She turned her face into his chest, trying to hide the few tears that trailed down her cheeks. “I’m not weak…I’m not.” she murmured into his shirt. The desolation in her voice broke him, and for a moment he could barely breath, before answering her.

“No, you’re not weak- you are so strong, stronger than you know.” He slipped down the hall to her room, laying her down with the greatest care before pulling blankets over her and making sure the box was placed carefully on the side table. Knowing she wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, he pressed his lips to her forehead in the barest kiss before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I try to not be the writer who begs for comments, because that would be *ahem* undignified; but since I've gone from 'no one may see my work' to 'one too many sips of bourbon and I'm posting fanfiction online', I am really curious to know what people think! Thank you to those who have commented, I appreciate your encouragement! I would like to know what you enjoyed, what you didn't like, and what you might like to see. I'm taking this as an opportunity to improve my skill and become the writer I would like to be. Thank you for sticking with my story!


	14. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader wakes up with consequences from the night before and discovers the boys may have a plan to learn about the brand on her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I just wanted to sincerely apologize for leaving you hanging for so long! Life threw me a couple curve balls that required going into survival mode to deal with. But it looks like things might be getting back on track. Thank you for your patience! Enjoy the chapter.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to a cruel headache screaming in your skull. “Ugh, never doing that again!” You mutter to yourself, pulling the blankets over your head and moaning in misery.

 “I should expect not.” A voice made you jump, yelping at the pain in your head. “I do hope you have learned your lesson, pet.” The pompous voice tutting at you, made you growl through the blankets, not bothering to even look at the intruder in your room.

“Go away, Crowley!” When you don’t hear retreating footsteps, you flip back the blankets, wincing at the pain the action brought you. Glaring at the too close figure in front of you, you demand, “Why are you here?” Your voice sounded a lot weaker than you wanted it to- your head was still pounding, and you were straining to remember the events from last night. Last you remember you were at the library table, how did you get back in bed?

“Well, I saw how much of Dean’s precious whiskey went missing last night, and neither of the lads are sporting a hangover, so I figured it had to be you.” A mocking grin crept across his face as he said, “And really, could I have passed up the chance to lord it over you?”

“Yes, yes you could have.” You are saved from having to retort any further by the sound of footsteps shuffling outside your open door.

Dean’s irritated voice floated in from the doorway, causing you to look up. “Crowley, what exactly do you think you are doing?” Next to him towered Sam, who’s expression mirrored Dean’s as he glared at Crowley.

You jump in, before the man beside you can answer. “He’s bugging me, now please send the jerk away!”

“Now, now, no need for that,” Crowley tutted once more, “I’m merely checking in on your little pet, out of the goodness of my heart.” This elicited a snort from Sam, and a harsher glare from Dean.

“Really, Fergus!” A delightfully Scottish accent lilted out from behind the boys, as a petite red head in a long green dress stepped into view. “Why would she want to look at your ugly mug, when she has been living with these two paragons of perfection for two months now?” As if to emphasize her point, the lady reached out and tweaked Sam’s butt, making him jump sharply in surprise.

“You wound me, Mother.” Crowley replied flatly, clearly used to being insulted by the woman in your doorway. Despite your confusion with whatever was going on here, a grin, wide and mischievous, spread across your face.

“Fergus, your name is Fergus?!” His only reply was to roll his eyes and turn to the other three.

“Don’t we have things to be doing?” He asked.

Dean’s grin matched yours as he said, “Whatever you say- Fergus.”

“Do you see what I have to work with! Insufferable!” The Demon fussed to his mother before pushing out of the crowded doorway and stalking down the hall with the air of an irritated housecat.

Once he was gone, the red head turned back to you, “Alright, lass, I don’t have all day waiting for you to finish your lie about. Get up, put some clothes on, we’ve got work to do.” With that, she looped her arm through Sam’s, forcing him to escort her in the direction that Crowley went.

Looking at Dean pleadingly, you ask, “Could you explain what’s going on?”

“We have a plan, get dressed and come out so we can talk it over.” He hesitated, gaze softening for a moment. “You…. You doing ok?” The question was quiet, unsure, like he had seen something to give him concern. _Crap, what happened last night?_

“I’m fine,” You reassured him, brushing off his concern. Right as he turned to go, you decide to go out on a limb and assume he was the one that brought you back bed. “Hey, thanks for your help last night.”

Dean turned back, a small smile lighting his green eyes, confirming your assumption. Without a word, he left, closing the door behind him.

 ~

Twenty minutes later, you sat at the library table, listening with apprehension to Rowena, as the redhead had been introduced, run through the plan with you.

“That’s it?” You asked incredulously. “You guys call throwing spells at me until you find the right counter for whatever mojo is branded into my back, a plan? That’s a vague hack job at best!”

Rowena huffed indignantly. “Well if you’ve got a better plan, be my guest! I didn’t even want ta be here! Apparently, there is no saying no, when there’s a Winchester involved.”

“Come now, mother. Whining is so unbecoming.” The witch whirled to glare at her smirking son, but the rest of their bickering faded into the background as Dean stepped closer to you, resting a comforting hand on your arm. The heat of his touch almost seemed to burn- the sear nearly drowning out what he was saying. You shook your head a little in attempt to clear your thoughts. You could ponder such a strong reaction to his touch later, right now you had to focus. His words threaded through your consciousness, bringing you back to the present.

“You don’t have to do this, we can find another way if it makes you uncomfortable.” His voice was low, a tone of gentle comfort meant just for you. Your confusion spiked again. Dean had mostly been kind to you, unless he was grumpy or angry, which, let’s face it, was pretty often, but he hadn’t ever gone out of his way to be this out right caring, at least not in front of other people. _Combine that with my overreaction to his touch and there is something strange going on here,_ you thought to yourself. You really can’t be thinking about this right now! _Focus come on!_

“No I can do this. Rowena’s right, we don’t have a better plan right now, and we can’t just sit around waiting for the other shoe to drop.” You force more confidence into your voice than you feel, knowing Dean would put a stop to this if you didn’t sound completely sure.

At that, Rowena broke off the argument she was having with her son and turned back to you. “All right! Let’s get on with this. I have other things to be doing.” She hurried over to the far end of the table, which was piled high with supplies for their counter spell guessing game.  “I’ll need you to stand here lass. Oh, and remove your shirt so I can get at the brand on your back.”

“I…I’m sorry- What?” You stutter, horrified at the idea of being shirtless in front of not one, but three men. Dean was behind you, so you couldn’t see his reaction, but Sam was positioned perfectly so you could see the slow creep of red crawl up his cheeks. Crowley, standing next to him, just smirked. “That’s not happening ok?”

“Do you want me to do this or not?” Rowena snapped, before looking around at everyone’s expressions. A smirk of her own appeared on her face. “You mean to tell me that you have lived alone for two months with the Winchesters and neither one of them have gotten you out of your shirt yet? That’s a rare act of chivalry on their part, now isn’t it?” Her gaze shifted to Dean standing behind you, “Unless of course you’ve wizened up and realized how good looking your little angel friend is.”

Dean cleared his throat, coming out from behind you. “Ok! That’s enough of that topic for, like – ever.” He slid off his plaid over shirt and handed it to you. “Here, wear it backward- That was she can have access but you can be comfortable.” You beamed gratefully at him, taking the offered shirt. Dean’s scent clung to the fabric, settling a layer of calm on your nerves as you breathed it in.

“If we are done with our hallmark moment, can we get on with this. Mother dear isn’t the only one with things to do.” Crowley drawled. It was only a matter of a few moments before Rowena was ready with the first try. While setting up, she explained that first she would be using an ancient Russian spell, used to force things into revealing their true nature.

“Right, let’s hope it works.” You brace your hands on the edge of the table, allowing the witch access to the intricate scar on your back. Behind you, her Scottish voice rose and fell, a guttural language spilling over you. There was a quiet pause and then she spoke again.

“Oh, yes- forgot to say, this might sting a wee bit.” A cool liquid splattered on your back, seconds before the branded skin exploded in white hot agony. A scream ripped from your lungs before you had any chance to suppress the sound. Locking your knees, you refused to fall down- even shrugging off the calloused hands that tried to hold you.

“I can do this,” You ground out through the waves of fire washing up your back, “I can do this!” Right before the searing white pain dissolved into utter darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome!


	15. Failure and Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go as planned and frustrations come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody,  
> I am truly sorry for the month's long absence. A lot has happened in the time I've been gone. Two deaths in the family, a brand new baby, a trip to South Dakota and back, and lots more. Needless to say life has been a little crazy and I have gone into survival mode. I won't promise regular updates, but I have not abandoned the story, that I can promise.  
> Thank you to everyone who had commented or left Kudos, I really appreciate it, and it's part of what encouraged me to get back to the story. Here is the next installment, it's a little rough and not very long, but it is something! Thank you for reading.

As your eyes flutter open, fighting to regain focus, Dean, concern etched into the lines of his face, bends down into your line of sight. “(Y/N)?” His relieved voice silences what sounds like escalating arguing on the other side of the room.

 “Ah, decided to rejoin us did you?” Rowena’s voice lilted across the space, “Shall we start again?”

 Dean’s face tightened with anger as he opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by Sam saying, “She just regained consciousness, don’t you think maybe you should give her a moment to recover?”

 You miss the witch’s sharp reply, tuning out another intensifying argument to ask Dean, “How long have I been out?” Pressing your hands to the polished wood surface below you, you attempt to sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the table you had been laying on.

“Five minutes at most.” He said shortly, before pushing on with, “We will find another way to counter the spell, you’re not going through with this.” His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, and you look up into his eyes. Staring into the concern and frustration, you hate to disagree with him, but you must.

“No, Dean. I have to do this.” Gently pushing his hand off your shoulder, you turn around and shout at others, still arguing on the other side of the room. “Oy! Shut it! We have a lot more work to do, let’s not waste time with arguing.” Sam and Rowena turned to look at you simultaneously. Sam concerned- Rowena with a spark in her eye that might have been grudging respect, but you weren’t going to get your hopes up. As both Sam and Dean opened their mouths to argue with you, you help up your hands and cut them off, saying, “Our best shot at figuring out what the hell is going on is to keep trying. This is my choice, and I choose to push forward.”

As both Winchesters snapped their mouths shut, Rowena clapped her hands together and said, “Alrighty, I’ll have the next spell mixed up in a tick!” She bustled around the table, tossing ingredients into a bowl, and flipping through the pages of a giant tome with gilded edges. “So Russian revelation spell didn’t do the trick, maybe a Greek command spell will.”

This time when she applied the spell, you knew to expect the pain, and partially succeeded in suppressing the resulting scream. Instead of white hot pain like before, ice tore through your core, making your knees buckle, narrowly missing smacking your head on the table you had been braced against.

When the darkness cleared from your vision, Rowena was already combining ingredients for the next spell on her list. Two more failed attempts later and tension grew as your strength waned. You sat on the edge of the table, trembling and sweating, waiting for the next attempt. Dean stood in front of you, practically pleading with you to take a break.

“Come on, (y/n), it won’t hurt to rest for a little bit. You can’t keep going like this.”

“I can and I will,” You say defiantly. “I need to know what is going on here!”

Dean leaned in, a frustrated growl creeping into his tone. “You’ll never find out if you kill yourself doing this!”

Your reply is cut off by Rowena chiming, “Ready! Germanic this time. Let’s give it a go shall we?”

When once more you find yourself waking up flat on your back, an irritable grumble falls out as you try to sit up. “Shit. Ok let’s do it again.”

“My, my, such language. Well as entertaining as this is, I have other things to be attending to.” Crowley stood, and straightened his jacket, making a show of checking the time before adding, “Besides I foresee a bit of family drama coming.” He flicked his eyes in the direction of Dean, just reentering the room, before transporting himself from the bunker with a snarky, “Ta!”

You turn to look at Dean, shrinking back a little at the storm clouds clearly brewing in his features. “Is there something the matter?” you as meekly, trying not to draw his ire. Obviously, this was not the best strategy, because the minute you spoke, the storm broke, his emotions crashing over you as he yelled.

“Of course somethings the matt- You know what? Screw it.” Dean strode over, and before you had a chance to react snatched you up, swinging you over his shoulder, heading down the hall to the rooms.

“Dean! What the hell! Put me down!” You shouted, pounding on his back with your fists. No amount of kicking, writhing, or punching broke the vise grip he had on your body. Looking up you saw Sam watching bemused at the end of the hall. “Sam! Don’t just stand there, get me down, please!”  But all you received in response from him was a shrug and up turned palms. Damn him, being on the same page as his brother.

Slamming open the door to your room, Dean dropped you unceremoniously onto the bed. “You will stay there, and you will rest! You will not get yourself killed over this! You hear me?” Storming to the door, he stepped outside, slamming it shut again behind him. The unmistakable sound of a body sliding down the door and sitting on the floor told you he was just outside, playing guard dog to keep you in the room.

Fury boiled inside compelling you up from the bed to fly at the door. You kicked it viciously, ignoring how much it hurt your toes. “You don’t get to make my choices for me!” You screamed. “So what if I die? My whole world is gone, and the new life I have doesn’t really want me! How is that anything to live for?” Sinking to your knees, you rest your forehead against the door, and continue, more quietly this time. “I was a 26-year-old wife and mother. Two beautiful little girls, a man who loved me, and a little place to call home. We were a little cliché, but we were happy.” Your voice broke, catching on the pain of the memories. “They were ripped from my arms and slaughtered before my eyes. Then the same monster who did it, tortured me for a month. Then I find out he did something else to me- something that might just explain his motives. If I knew what he wanted, as twisted as it might be, I might be able to put a little bit of this pain to rest. So yeah, I’m going to work myself to the bone, maybe even to death to get to the bottom of this. Wouldn’t you?”

By this time your voice is shredded from holding back sobs, a slow trickle of tears dripped off your chin onto the floor. “Please, Dean.” Though at this point, you aren’t sure exactly what you are pleading for. A scuffling outside and jiggling of the nob, made you scramble back, just in time to escape getting smacked in the face as the door swung open. He just stood there, staring, broken by his own pain, and burdened with yours. Silently he offered you his hand, pulling you gently to your feet. Still without a word, he lead you back to the bed, pulling you down onto the blanket with him as he lay down. His warmth enveloped you as he wrapped you in his arms, drawing you to his chest, giving you both a moment to grieve in the silence.


End file.
